Ml 


BRUNHILDA 
OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 


BRUNHILDA 


BRUNHILDA 

OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 


BY 
WILLIAM  JASPER  NICOLLS 


"  But  she  was  a  soft  landscape  of  mild  earth, 

Where  all  was  Harmony,  and  Calm  and  Quiet, 
Luxuriant,  budding  :  cheerful    ***** 
I've  seen  your  stormy  Seas  and  stormy  Women, 
And  pity  Lovers  rather  more  than  Seamen." 


PHILADELPHIA 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  BY 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

Published  Ma}/,  1908 


All  Sights  Reserved 
Printed  in  U  S.  A. 


EEFEAIN : 


'On  the  shores  of  Casco  Bay, 
Where  the  boats  at  anchor  lay, 
Don't  you  hear  the  wind  a-callin', 
Thro'  the  riggin',  old  and  gray. 
On  the  shores  of  Casco  Bay, 
Where  the  little  white  caps  play, 
And  the  sun  sinks  down  in  glory, 
O'er  the  mountains,  far  away." 


2229^36 


PART  FIRST 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 


NY  orders  beyond  Portland?"  the  old  cap 
tain  asked,  as  he  stood  erect  before  him. 

Nelson  looked  up  from  the  book  on  his 
lap,  gazed  absently  over  the  hand  rail  and  then 
along  the  smooth  white  deck  of  the  Phyllis. 
"None,"  he  answered. 

"Casco  Bay,"  the  weather-beaten  old  skipper  ex 
plained,  as  he  waved  his  hand  towards  the  blue 
North. 

"Yes,"  he  assented  lazily — and  resumed  his  read 
ing. 

The  sharp  old  eyes  —  New  England  eyes  — 
snapped  impatiently. 

"I  was  raised  on  one  of  them  islands,"  the  skip 
per  informed  him. 

It  was  the  longest  sentence  he  had  spoken  to 
Nelson  since  the  Phyllis  had  slipped  her  moor 
ings  in  New  York  Harbor — the  longest  purely 

9 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

conversational  sentence;  the  next  was  on  official 
matters. 

"Shall  we  go  there?" 

Nelson  closed  the  book,  pulled  out  a  jewelled 
case,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"As  you  please — anywhere  on  the  map,"  he  said. 

Then  he  lay  back,  indolently,  in  a  low  steamer 
chair,  under  the  deck  awning,  smoked  his  cigarette 
and  contemplated  the  North,  now  fast  changing 
to  purple  and  gold. 

For  the  Maine  coast  it  was  a  remarkable  view. 

The  Phyllis  was  silently  cleaving  the  silken 
waters  of  the  harbor,  her  sharp,  aristocratic  bow 
dividing  the  waters  into  little  sprays  of  sparkling 
blue  and  green,  which  fell  again  with  a  gentle 
cadence  into  the  quiet  sea. 

There,  just  over  the  port  rail  stretched  the 
undulating  shore  of  Portland,  with  glimpses  of 
houses,  through  the  tall  masts  of  the  heavily  laden 
vessels  that  lay  at  anchor.  At  his  right  a  light 
house  stood,  round  and  solid  as  though  it  had 
grown  from  roots  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

Ahead  of  him  was  a  lovely  island  dotted  with 
10 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

picturesque  cottages  and  smooth  green  lawns,  and 
beyond  that  was  another  island,  and  more  islands, 
fading  into  the  yellowish  red  of  an  August  sunset. 

Probably  his  mind  recalled,  and  then  dwelt  ten 
aciously  on  a  scene  he  would  much  rather  have  for 
gotten. 

The  blue  Adriatic — the  Grand  canal — the  silken 
waters  of  the  bay — the  sunset — a  Venetian  love 
song — and — Anne. 

"Jove,"  he  sighed  under  his  breath — "But  how 
it  recalls  every  line,  every  feature."  Then  he 
leaned  forward,  and  with  elbows  on  knees,  he  held 
his  head  between  both  hands  and  stared  straight 
into  the  searching  eyes  of  old  Botts,  the  skipper. 

"We're  a  going  down  the  Bay,"  said  the 
captain,  tentatively. 

The  fact  was  obvious,  still  there  was  a  question 
in  the  abstract,  and  the  captain  evidently  wished 
an  answer. 

Nelson  looked  up,  and  mechanically  reached  for 
his  cigarette  case. 

"I  said  anywhere  on  the  map — the  Bay  is  on  the 
map,  I  believe?" 

11 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  guess  it  is,"  replied  the  skipper. 

Then  he  shifted  his  weight  onto  the  other  leg 
and  stared  at  his  owner. 

There  was  something  on  his  mind,  something  of 
importance,  evidently. 

Nelson  looked  him  squarely  in  the  face  and  said, 
"Well?" 

"It's  a  passenger — that  is  she  wants  to  be." 

"She?" — Nelson  held  the  wax  taper  in  suspen 
sion. 

"It  looks  like  she,"  said  the  old  man,  doggedly. 

"No." 

The  match  exploded  like  a  toy  pistol  and  a  tiny 
wreath  of  smoke  curled  upwards. 

Then  there  was  a  voice,  round,  flexible — a 
woman's  voice.  It  came  from  somewhere  astern. 

"Ho  !— Captain  Botts !" 

Nelson  looked  over  the  hand  rail. 

In  a  small  white  boat,  feathering  her  oars  and 
bending  gracefully  to  each  stroke,  not  over  fifty 
feet  away,  was  a  young  woman. 

As  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  her  eyes  rested 
on  Nelson. 

12 


n 


a  curious  thing  happend. 
1  The  owner  of  the  Phyllis  had  thrown  his 

cigarette  into  the  water,  and  was  on  his  feet, 
gesticulating  vigorously. 

"Captain  Botts" — he  commanded,  "why  don't 
you  stop — stop,  I  say — don't  you  hear  her  calling 
to  you?"  And  all  for  the  sake  of  a  woman. 

A  young  woman  with  masses  of  fluffy  hair  glint 
ing  in  the  yellow  afterglow  like  interwoven  threads 
of  golden  sunshine.  She  wore  no  hat  and  her 
firm  round  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbow. 

The  astonished  captain  shuffled  forward,  and  at 
his  heels  followed  Nelson. 

About  midships  he  stood  abreast  of  the  little 
white  boat,  and  managed  to  catch  the  young 
woman's  eye. 

Then  he  raised  his  laced  cap,  with  the  bow  of 
an  admiral. 

13 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

She  nodded  carelessly. 

"May  I  come  aboard?"  she  asked,  in  her  musi 
cal  voice.  She  had  adroitly  shipped  her  oars,  and 
had  caught  the  line  thrown  her  by  a  young  deck 
hand.  The  engine  suddenly  stopped  its  rhythmic 
pulsations,  and  the  Phyllis,  losing  headway,  was 
slowly  drifting  in  the  slightly  undulating  sea. 
Her  face  upturned  to  him  showed  warm  and  soft 
in  the  crimson  haze  overshadowing  it ;  but  clear 
and  distinct  shone  the  luminous  dark  blue  eyes,  and 
between  half  parted  lips  flashed  her  exquisitely 
white  teeth. 

Nelson  hesitated  not  a  moment. 

"Certainly, — permit  me."  He  clasped  her 
strong,  smooth  hand  and  lifted  her  up  the  little 
ladder  and  onto  the  deck. 

"Thanks" — she  beamed,  and  then  seated  herself 
comfortably  on  a  cushioned  chair. 

Captain  Botts  touched  his  cap  with  more  defer 
ence  than  he  had  ever  shown  to  Nelson. 

"The  boat?" — he  said,  nodding  his  head  to 
wards  the  little  white  craft  that  was  nestling  close 
to  the  side  of  the  Phyllis. 

14 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Oh! — the  boat?"  she  exclaimed.  She  pro 
nounced  it  "bo-it"  with  a  lingering  cadence  that 
went  to  Nelson's  head.  Then,  settling  back  com 
fortably  in  the  cushions: — 

"We  can  leave  it  at  Little  Diamond." 

The  captain  touched  his  cap  and  went  forward. 

In  a  few  moments  the  Phyllis  was  again  slowly 
steaming  to  the  North- — with  a  little  white  boat  in 
tow. 

Nelson  stood  by,  with  an  amused  expression  on 
his  bronzed  face.  He  had  marked  with  satisfac 
tion  the  comprehensive  "we,"  and  also  the  cap 
tain's  alacrity  in  obeying  orders  not  given  by 
himself.  He  drew  up  a  chair  not  far  from  hers. 

"Is  it  far?"  he  said,  leisurely,  as  he  gazed  ahead 
into  the  blue  and  gold. 

"Far?" — she  looked  at  his  handsome,  good- 
natured  face,  critically. 

"Little  Diamond" — he  explained. 

"Oh! — just  over  there" — she  pointed  a  taper 
ing  finger  across  the  blue  water  to  an  island — the 
first  as  you  go  down  the  Bay. 

"That ! — why  we're  almost  there." 
15 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

A  light  appeared  for  an  instant  in  her  eyes — 
the  light  that  lies  in  woman's  eyes — hidden,  in 
scrutable. 

There  was  a  manifest  tone  of  disappointment  in 
his  voice. 

"And  you  leave  us  there?" 

"Oh ! — no,  we  leave  the  boat  there," — once  more 
it  was  "bo-it,"  and  he  tried  to  memorize  her  pro 
nunciation. 

Again  she  looked  him  over  very  carefully,  and, 
apparently  satisfied  with  the  inspection,  she  began. 

"You  are  Mr.  Thomas?"  she  queried. 

Nelson  bowed. 

"I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  stopping,"  she 
went  on.  "I  missed  the  Aucocisco." 

Nelson  looked  puzzled. 

"The  Aucocisco  leaves  Portland  at  five-ten,  you 
know,  and  I  would  have  been  left  over  night, — 
then" — she  yawned  a  trifle  in  the  shade  of  her 
brown  hand — "dear  me! — I'm  so  tired — then  you 
came  along  and — I  knew  Captain  Botts." 

His  disappointment  changed  to  chagrin. 

"Oh! — yes — Captain  Botts,"  he  said  absently. 
16 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  rowed  over  from  Little  Diamond,"  she  con 
tinued.  "I  have  friends  living  there." 

Matters  were  still  a  little  hazy,  but  her  voice 
was  delightful,  and  her  eyes ! 

He  had  plenty  of  time — he  thought.  She  could 
explain  it  to  Captain  Botts,  and  he  would  see  that 
the  skipper  obeyed  orders  if — "Well — we'll  see," 
he  muttered 

"I  live  on  Orr's  Island,"  she  said,  with  a  final 
ity  that  made  him  pick  up  his  book  and  hasten 
after  the  captain. 

That  intrepid  sailor  was  carefully  examining  a 
government  chart  through  a  pair  of  large  round 
spectacles. 

"I  know  the  course,"  he  said  apologetically,  as 
Nelson  touched  his  shoulder,  "but  I  ain't  taking 
chances  on  shifting  buoys  that  the  government's 
always  changing — Eh !" 

"How  far  is  it  to  Orr's  Island?"  said  Nelson. 
The  captain  looked  over  his  spectacles  and 
scratched  the  side  of  his  grizzled  head. 

"Orr's  Island  ? — about  two  hours — the  way  we're 
running." 

17 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  looked  him  in  the  eye — without  a  blush. 
"Make  it  three  hours,  and  send  the  steward  to 
me,"  he  ordered. 

Then  he  dived  into  a  state-room,  pulled  out  a 
couple  of  soft,  fleecy  steamer  rugs  and  went  on 
deck. 

She  nestled  in  their  bright  colors  and  warm 
folds. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  she  murmured. 


18 


Ill 


CAPTAIN  BOTTS— erect,  sunburned,  wrinkled, 
in  a  uniform  with  gold  lace  on  his  cuffs  and 
cap, — stood  by  the  wheel  in  the  pilot  house. 
The  mate  could  do  very  well  in  the  open,  but 
here  in  Casco  Bay  it  was  different.     The  channel 
took  many  devious  turns  to  Orr's  Island.     At  sight 
of   Nelson,   however,    he   turned    over   the   wheel, 
to    the    mate    and    signalled    the    engineer    "half 
speed."     Then    he    said,    "The    Casino    on    Long 
Island  is  the  mark — hanged  if  I  wasn't  going  full 
speed,"  he  added  to  himself. 

Nelson  motioned  him  to  a  seat  forward,  in  the 
bow, — and  offered  a  cigar. 

"Fine  evening,"  said  the  captain,  suspiciously, 
as  he  swept  a  sulphurous  match  across  the  leg  of 
his  trousers. 

"Yes — by  the  way, — er — who  is — our  passen 
ger?" 

19 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  captain  puffed  vigorously. 

"Who  is  she?" 

"Yes, — her  name?" 

"Oh— Hilda." 

"Hilda — ,  what?"  he  persisted.  The  captain's 
caution  annoyed  him. 

"You  mean  her  folks'  name?"  said  the  skipper, 
warily. 

"Of  course, — her  family  name." 

"She  ain't  got  any  family." 

The  captain  was  wishing  that  he  had  his  pipe. 
He  was  chewing  and  pulling  at  the  unaccustomed 
cigar  so  strongly  that  the  fire  was  running,  un 
evenly,  down  its  side. 

"What  is  her  other  name?"  asked  Nelson. 

"She  was  baptized  Brunhilda,"  explained  the 
skipper.  Then  he  lapsed  into  silence,  profound, 
inpenetrable. 

Nelson  held  his  knee  in  both  hands  and  peered 
into  the  gloaming. 

"Then  it  doesn't  matter  so  much  if  we  put  back 
to  Portland,"  he  observed,  thoughtfully. 

"You  can't  do  that,"  said  the  captain,  jumping 
20 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

to  his  feet  and  tossing  his  cigar  overboard.  It 
described  a  fiery  curve  in  the  dusk,  and  fell  into 
the  water  with  a  little  hissing  sound. 

"The  Phyllis  is  mine,  I  believe,"  said  the  other, 
calmly. 

"But  she  must  get  home  to-night." 

There  was  resolve,  determination,  finality,  in  the 
old  man's  voice. 

"Why?"  he  temporized. 

"Hagan  Gunther  would  never  forgive  me." 

A  light  broke  into  the  young  man's  conscious 
ness.     "What  has  he  to  do  with  it?"  he  inquired. 

"He's  her  uncle — a  fine  man,"  the  captain  ex 
plained. 

"Not  as  good  a  man  as  his  brother,"  Nelson 
ventured. 

"His  brother?" 

"Yes,— her  father." 

"Oh, — Etzel, — you  knew  Etzel?"  said  the  skip 
per,  innocently. 

"I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Nelson,  truthfully. 

"Most  everybody  heard  of  him,  time  his  boat 
went  down — foolhardy,"  mused  the  captain. 

21 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Everyone  lost,"  suggested  Nelson. 

"All  'cepting  Hilda." 

Then  he  had  the  story. 

So  he  got  on  his  feet  and  yawned,  stretching 
his  arms  over  his  head. 

"Of  course,  if  we  must  take  her  home — why  we 
— must,"  he  said  lazily. 

The  captain  went  back  to  the  wheel. 

"He's  reasonable  enough,"  he  murmured,  as  he 
stuck  the  well-chewed  stem  of  his  pipe  between  his 
teeth.  "Going  away  out  of  his  course,  just  for 
Hilda, — blamed  good-natured,  that's  a  fact." 

Kind,  good  Nelson — stood  for  five  minutes  in 
the  shadow  of  the  cabin,  mentally  photographing 
every  line  of  her  lovely  contour — from  the  top  of 
her  glorious  head  to  the  tip  of  her  canvas  shoe — 
just  peeping  from  beneath  the  vari-colored  rug. 

"An  orphan,"  he  said  as  he  gazed  at  her,  un 
observed.  Then  he  drew  in  his  breath,  like  one 
who  is  pleased  in  anticipation. 

"Fatherless,  motherless,  sisterless,  brotherless." 
Then  he  taxed  his  memory. 

22 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Brunhild?" — he  asked  himself,  softly. 
"Oh,    yes, — I    remember    it: — Nibelungenlied.' 
He  repeated  the  verse : — 

"Then  spake  the  lord  of  Rhineland: 

'Straight  will  I  hence  to  sea, 
And  seek  the  fiery  Brunhild 

However  it  go  with  me. 
For  love  of  the  stern  maiden 

I'll  frankly  risk  my  life; 
Ready  am  I  to  lose  it, 

If  I  win  her  not  to  wife.' ' 


23 


IV 


THE  steward — he  was  from  Nelson's  club,  and 
was  on  his  vacation — drew  up  a  small  table 
and  set  down  a  tray  of  his  own  devising. 
There  was  a  cantaloupe,  iced  to  delicious  cool 
ness.     Tiny  thin  cups  of  clam  broth,  a  broiled 
young  chicken,  and  a  dish — all  his  own — in  which 
a  stuffed  raw  tomato  was  the  only  outward  and 
visible  sign  of  an  inward  and  delectable  filling.     A 
delicate  little  tart  for  dessert,  and  then  came  the 
coffee. 

It  was  a  dainty  refection. 

She  had  scarcely  tasted  the  dishes,  and  now  she 
was  sipping  from  her  cup  with  hardly  concealed 
indifference.  His  magnificence  was  apparently 
lost  upon  her,  and  his  brilliant  conversation  died 
away  in  the  ripples  of  the  Bay.  Overhead  the 
moon  emerged  from  behind  a  fleecy  cloud,  and  its 
rays  tipped  the  waters  with  a  silvery  radiance.  In 

24 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  distance  a  tinkling  sound  of  bells  aroused  her 
from  the  awkward  silence. 

"The  bell  buoy," — she  said,  leaning  forward, 
her  face  animated,  ungraciously, — "We'll  soon 
be  there." 

"You  are  glad?"  he  inquired. 

"Glad?" — There  was  a  shade  of  humor,  mis 
chief,  lurking  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes ;  she  sat  al 
most  heedlessly,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  her  hair 
loosely  threatening  to  fall  any  moment,  the  blue 
sailor  knot  around  her  shoulders  almost  awry, — 
"Oh,  yes." 

Clearly  his  disappointment  and  chagrin  had 
changed  to  vexation. 

"The  Phyllis  is  not  nearly  so  fine  a  boat  as  the 
— the — Oakawisco" 

She  smiled,  then  laughed, — a  rippling,  merry 
impromptu, — aloud.  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
her  hands  behind  her  head,  her  round  bare  arms 
free,  natural. 

"Why,  the  Aucoclsco  is  only  a  passenger  boat, 
for  the  islanders, — This  is  a  yacht !" 

She  said  it  with  almost  a  gasp  of  admiration. 
25 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Her  glance  swept  along  the  beautiful  lines  of  the 
vessel.  It  should  have  satisfied  him  that  the  trou 
ble  was  not  with  the  Phyllis. 

"Some  passengers,  perhaps," — he  suggested, 
"on  the  Co-co-isco — that's  the  most  infernal 
name,"  he  said,  roughly. 

It  was  probably  dawning  on  him  that  it  was 
just  possible,  in  fact  quite  conceivable,  that  he, 
Nelson  Thomas,  rich,  dilettante,  was  not  the  be 
wildering  success  with  this  island  girl  that  he  had 
imagined. 

She  answered  frankly,  carelessly,  "Oh,  I  gener 
ally  meet  some  friends  among  the  passengers." 
Then  her  hands  fell  into  her  lap,  and  her  anima 
tion  died  away  into  the  silence  around  them. 

He  was  evidently  angry  when  he  called  her  "The 
most  apathetic,  indifferent — '  That  is  what  he 
said,  under  his  breath,  as  he  stumbled  over  a  deck 
stool,  on  his  way  to  the  captain.  The  latter  was 
puffing  silently  at  his  pipe,  his  eyes  roving,  dream 
ily,  across  the  placid  waters  of  the  Bay — its  sur 
face  reflecting  the  red,  yellow  and  purple  of  the 
glowing  skies.  The  bow  cut  scarcely  a  ripple  as 

26 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  Phyllis  under  half  speed  floated  serenely  to  the 
North. 

Nelson's  brows  gathered  ominously.  "What's 
the  matter  with  the  boat?"  he  inquired. 

The  captain  o-lanced  quickly  fore  and  aft. 

"Matter  ?'*  he  repeated,  "nothing,  as  I  know." 

"She's  crawling  along  like  a  mud  turtle,"  as 
serted  the  owner. 

The  skipper  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
pulled  down  his  cap,  and  shut  the  little  window  in 
front  of  him. 

"You  want  to  go  faster?"  he  suggested. 

"We'll  be  out  all  night,  if  you  don't  do  some 
thing,"  said  Nelson,  gloomily. 

"You  said  awhile  ago  about  making  it  in  three 
hours,"  began  the  captain,  in  justification,  as  he 
signalled  the  engineer  to  "get  ready."  That 
young  man  was  lying  on  his  back,  on  the  cushioned 
seat,  beside  the  polished  cylinders,  looking  through 
the  window  at  the  moon.  He  jumped  as  if  a  bee 
had  stung  him.  "Get  busy,  Jake,"  he  called  to 
the  fireman.  Jake  slid  down  the  ladder,  and 

opened  wide  the  blower 

27 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Well, — three  hours  isn't  all  night, — is  it?"- 
interrupted  Nelson. 

"It  depends,"  the  skipper  answered,  vaguely. 
Then  he  peered  into  the  gathering  shades.  "You 
want  to  go  ahead  quick?" — he  emphasized. 

"That's  what  she  wants,"  concluded  Nelson,  ab 
sently. 

"She—" 

The  jingle  bell  was  ringing  "get  there,"  only 
a  second  before  a  column  of  black  smoke  curled 
upwards,  in  circling  rings,  from  the  funnel,  and 
then  flattened  down  to  a  long  horizontal  streak, 
as  the  Phyllis  gained  headway  on  her  "full  speed" 
for  Orr's  Island. 


28 


V 


AFTERWARDS — in  her  room,  from  the  win 
dow  of  which  she  could  see  the  lights  of  the 
Phyllis,    anchored    in    the    harbor — Hilda 
wrote  to  her  friend  in  Portland. 

"I  won  my  bet  all  right,  and  carne 
down  home  on  that  yacht," — then  she 
wrote  a  lot  of  girlish  adjectives. 

"The  supper  was  fine,  I  was  awfully 
hungry,  but  managed  to  keep  my  ap 
petite  within  lady-like  limits — a  real 
lady,  you  know,  only  nibbles  the  food, 
so  I  nibbled  and  sipped,  while  he — by  the 
way,  Grace,  he  is  very  good-looking, 
with  dreamy  eyes  and  such  a  sad  ex 
pression  on  his  face,  I'm  sure  he  must 
have  had  some  dreadful  disappointment. 
He  seemed  to  get  such  gloomy  fits — 
and  then  he  wrapped  me  in  lovely 
29 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

steamer  rugs,  the  brightest  colors — I 
must  have  looked  like  an  Indian,  and  the 
Phyllis  is  just  a  dream — we  could  cross 
the  ocean  on  her — so  he  said — and  she 
is  fitted  up  with  everything.  And  so 
fast,  we  overtook  the  Aucocisco,  and 
came  in  ahead.  His  name  is  Nelson 
Thomas,  from  New  York,  and  is  tall  and 
dark  with  brown  eyes,  and  I  came  down 
to  Orr's  Island  with  him  all  right,  and 
won  the  bet— so  you  can  send  the  gloves 
by  mail,  six  and  a  quarter,  tan,  full 
length,  and  she's  anchored  out  in  the 
harbor  now.  Uncle  Hagan  says  it's  not 
very  safe,  but  I  guess  Captain  Botts 
knows  where  to  lay,  so  maybe  we'll  meet 
again — and  if  so  I'll  write  right  away." 
Then  she  walked  to  the  post  office  and  dropped 
the  letter  in  the  door  box,  so  that  it  would  go  on 
the  Aucocisco — leaving  the  Island  at  five  o'clock 
the  next  morning. 


30 


VI 


NELSON  paced  the  deck,   restlessly,  back  and 
forth,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  then  in  his 
pockets;  his  head  bent  low  in  thought,  then 
upward  to  the  moon  for  inspiration — when  Cap 
tain  Botts  intercepted  him. 

"When  do  you  think  of  leaving  here?" 
Nelson    stopped,    impatiently.      "Would    it    be 
possible  to  stay  in  one  place  for — say  an  hour,  or 
must  we  always  move  on?" 

The  skipper  looked  at  the  crooked  brown  legs  of 
the  old  wharf,  which  the  ebbing  tide  was  slowly 
uncovering,   and   shook  his   head.      "Not   in   this 
cove,  I  didn't  calculate  to  stay  here  over  night." 
"No — "  yawned  Nelson,  indifferently. 
"Around  Baileys, — in  Mackerel  Cove,  we  could 
lay  snug  enough,"  the  skipper  suggested. 

"Yes — "  Nelson  gazed  absently  into  th    silvery 
moonlight. 

31 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Just  over  there,"  added  the  captain,  inclining 
his  head  towards  his  left  shoulder. 

"All  right—" 

He  resumed  his  absorbed  pacing,  back  and  forth 
and  across  the  deck,  and  then  stopping  suddenly 
he  ejaculated: — "She  has  the  most  uncommon 
eyes !" 

"Eh? — "  said  the  captain. 

"You  may  put  me  ashore  here, — and  lay  in 
— in — that  fish  cove, — until — until  you  hear  from 
me."  He  went  into  his  cabin,  changed  his  gar 
ments,  and  packing  a  small  suit-case,  he  went 
ashore  in  the  launch. 

Walking  to  the  hotel  he  engaged  a  room,  and 
he  threw  a  window  wide  open  to  enjoy  the  refresh 
ing  air  and  view.  He  discarded  his  cigarette  case 
and  drew  forth  an  old  fire-eaten,  brier  pipe. 

"Now, — "  he  said  to  his  heart,  "let  us  reason 
together.  In  the  first  place,  Nelson  Thomas, — 
just  what  are  you  doing  here,  and  how  long  are 
you  going  to  remain?  ....  Exactly, — 
you  want  to  get  away  from  society,  the  kind  of 
society  that  you  have  known  all  your  life. 

32 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Certainly, — to  loaf  around  on  the  island,  to  for 
get  that  you  own  white  shirts  and  black  garments, 
to  enjoy  at  your  leisure  the  piney  woods,  the 
green  grass,  the  sunny  rocks,  the  shady  walks, 

and — and — well, — say,  Hilda Anne 

is  all  right,  of  course,  in  her  own  sphere. 

"Anne  is  aristocratic,  correct,  rich  and  every 
thing  that  goes  with  such  advantageous  circum 
stances A  little  artificial,  frayed, 

dried,  perhaps.  But  she  has  perfect  features,  is 
always  faultlessly  gowned A  won 
derful  woman  indeed."  .... 

Then  he  concluded :  "I  like  Brunhilda  better." 

In  the  morning  he  was  up  betimes,  and  after 
a  hearty  breakfast  of  coffee,  rolls,  and  mackerel 
he  stepped  out  into  the  cool  bracing  air  of  the 
early  day.  Throwing  up  his  head  he  inhaled  the 
delicious,  soft,  moist  air  of  the  sea,  mingled  with 
balsamic  odors  from  the  pines. 

"A  most  delectable  island,"  he  acknowledged. 
"Old  Botts  was  right." 

His  walk  was  along  the  main  road  that  runs  its 
winding  course  the  whole  length  of  the  island.  It 

33 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

was  an  enchanting  walk,  up  hill  and  down,  wind 
ing  through  groups  of  old  trees,  pines,  birch, 
maples, — the  underwood  covered  with  ferns  and 
mosses.  Soft,  velvety  side  paths  branched  out  in 
vitingly  on  either  side,  enticing,  alluring. 

Then  at  every  hill-top  were  glimpses  of  the  sea, 
rippling,  rising  and  falling, — tiny  white  caps,  far 
out,  towards  the  horizon. 

And  the  air, — the  air  was  stimulating,  bracing, 
with  delicious  odors,  the  delightful  aroma  of  wood 
plants,  and  rich  leaf  mould. 

As  he  branched  from  the  rocky  highway  and 
turned  into  the  grassy  road,  the  overhanging 
boughs — bending  low  with  the  little  crystals  of 
dew— ^brushed  his  cheek,  while  his  feet  trod  on  a 
smooth,  soft  carpet  of  grass  and  moss.  It  was 
truly  a  delectable,  a  charming  island,  and  Nelson 
walked  the  whole  length  of  it,  looking  to  the  right 
and  left  of  him,  and  peering  into  the  open  windows 
and  doors  of  the  little  white  cottages,  but  finding 
no  sight  of  Hilda. 

"I  could  ask  where  uncle  Hagen  lives,  of  course," 
he  said  to  himself  a  thousand  times.  "But  I  am 

34 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

not  going  to  advertise  my  crassness  to  the  entire 
island." 

The  next  day  it  rained. 

Then  a  northeaster  set  in,  and  it  rained  con 
tinuously,  unceasingly,  for  two  days.  The  blue 
and  purple,  the  yellow  and  gold  left  the  skies,  and 
only  a  dull  leaden  gray  hung  low  in  the  firmament. 
The  days  seemed  to  be  weeks.  There  was  nothing 
to  mark  their  duration. 

Nelson  paced  the  narrow  porch  of  the  hotel 
until  he  was  wet  and  chilled  with  penetrating  mist. 
Then  he  went  indoors  and  read  the  advertisements 
of  an  old  magazine  that  he  found  lying  on  the 
table ;  until  he  grew  desperate  and  went  out  again, 
and  walked. 

"Where  in  the  world  could  that  girl  hide  her 
self  on  this  island?"  he  grumbled.  "I  have  been 
all  over  it,  and  around  everywhere."  Suddenly  an 
idea  struck  him ;  he  looked  grave. 

"She  must  be  ill."  He  said  it  seriously.  Then 
he  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and  decided  that  he 
would  send  word  to  Captain  Botts.  But  while  he 
was  looking  for  a  boatman  the  leaden  drab  of  the 

35 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

sky  became  gray,  and  as  he  scanned  the  horizon  it 
seemed  to  grow  lighter,  and  then  more  transpar 
ent,  until,  finally,  pale  glimpses  of  blue  appeared, 
half  concealed  by  the  light,  feathery  clouds  now 
floating  serenely  out  to  sea. 

As  the  afternoon  sun  shone  through  the  yellow 
mist  he  saw  coming  towards  him  a  fisherman.  He 
was  of  medium  height,  muscular,  alert,  and  had 
light  blue  eyes.  He  wore  yellow  oilskins,  and  over 
his  shoulders  he  carried  a  pair  of  oars. 

Nelson  stopped  him. 

"I  Avas  looking  for  a  man,"  he  said,  "to  go  out 
to  my  yacht." 

The  fisherman  put  the  end  of  an  oar  on  the 
ground  and  leaned  on  it. 

"Where  does  she  lay?"  he  asked. 

"Over  there  in  Mackerel  Cove." 

The  man  looked  at  the  sky,  at  the  sea,  and  then 
at  the  sun. 

"All  right,"  he  assented. 

"I  want  you  to  take  this." 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  gazed  foolishly  at  tv;o 
figures  coming  up  from  the  landing. 

36 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

One  was  Captain  Bolts,  the  other  was — Hilda. 
She  advanced  and  spoke  cordially. 

"Hello,  Herbert." 

The  fisherman  smiled.     "Hello,  Hilda." 

Then  she  turned  to  Nelson. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thomas,"  she  said,  "we  have  had  the 
loveliest  time."  She  was  radiant. 

"Yes,"  said  Nelson,  with  a  rising  inflection.  He 
looked  from  the  girl  to  the  shamefaced  captain, 
then  to  the  fisherman,  and  back  again. 

"On  the  Phyllis,"  she  continued,  joyously. 

"The  Phyllis"  he  echoed. 

"The  loveliest  boat,"  she  went  on.  "You  should 
see  it,  Herbert." 

She  turned  to  the  fisherman. 

"I  am  just  going  over  to  it  now,"  he  replied. 
"Want  to  go  along?" 

Nelson  interrupted.  "You  are  not  going  now — 
I  have  changed  my  mind." 

The  fisherman  shouldered  his  oars.  "Oh — all 
right ;  see  you  again." 

He  nodded  to  Hilda  and  walked  away,  his  strong 
figure  square,  erect. 

37 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  turned  to  the  girl. 

"I  hope  you  enjoyed  your  visit?"  he  inquired. 

"We  looked  for  you,"  said  the  skipper. 

Nelson  colored  a  trifle.  He  seemed  annoyed 
with  the  assurance. 

"Where  did  you  look?" 

"Everywhere,"  answered  the  skipper,  promptly. 

"Each  time  that  we  called  at  the  hotel  they  said 
that  you  were  out  walking,"  she  ventured. 

Again  he  looked  in  her  eyes.  No  doubt  he  saw 
nothing  but — truth. 

"Probably,"  he  commented.  "I  am  very  fond  of 
walking." 

"Yes,"  she  grew  interested.  "And  where  did 
you  walk?" 

"Oh,  round  and  round."  He  spoke  with  enthu 
siasm.  "I  love  to  walk." 

"To  the  post  office,"  she  suggested. 

"Yes,  I  called  there  for  my  letters." 

The  captain  opened  his  mouth,  said  nothing, 
and  shut  it  again.  He  seemed  to  be  surprised. 
Perhaps  he  was  wondering  how  they  knew  where  to 
send  his  letters.  Doutbless  letters  could  be  sent  to 

38 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"any  place  on  the  map" — if  one  knew  where  to 
address  them. 

"To  the  Back  Shore?"  she  continued. 

"Where  all  those  rocks  are?"  he  queried. 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"Yes, — yes,  indeed, — beautiful,"  he  beamed,  fer 
vently. 

She  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"To  the  bridge?"  she  intimated. 

"Bridge, — up  to  the  bridge? — several  times, 
while  they  were  sorting  the  mail  in  the  post  office. 
Exquisite  view,"  he  went  on,  ardently. 

Her  face  clouded. 

"It's  six  miles,  up  and  back,"  she  said,  soberly. 

"So  it  is,"  the  captain  corroborated. 

"I  was — rather  tired,"  he  admitted. 

The  skipper  sauntered  over  to  the  store  to  buy 
some  tobacco. 

She  moved  closer  to  him. 

"I  wanted  so  much  to  see  the  Phyllis — before — 
before — you  leave." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"And  Captain  Botts  said — " 
39 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  don't  care  what  Captain  Botts  said,"  he  in 
terrupted,  calmly. 

"But  you  won't  be  angry — you  are  not  of 
fended,"  she  urged. 

He  looked  down  at  the  upturned  face,  at  her 
lips,  half  parted,  at  the  symmetrical  arch  of  her 
eyebrows. 

"With  you?"— he  hastened. 

"With  Captain  Botts,"  she  persisted. 

Wherewith  she  said  "good-bye,"  and  then 
walked  demurely  away.  And  he  gazed  after  her 
as  she  walked  up  the  rocky  road,  and  on  up  the 
hilh  through  the  trees  and  beyond. 

Captain  Botts  sauntered  back  leisurely  from 
the  store. 

"The  ladies  came,"  he  said  laconically. 

"I'll  go  aboard,"  answered  Nelson. 

In  the  launch  he  faced  the  captain.  "Who  is 
that  man — Herbert?" 

"Captain  Herbert  Kenneth — best  man  in  the 
Bay,"  he  asserted,  boldly. 

40 


VII 


PILDA  sat  under  an  apple  tree,  and  wrote  a  let 
ter — holding  the  paper  on  a  book  in  her 
lap.  The  wind  had  dropped  around  to  the 
southwest  and  was  blowing  fresh  and  keen  from  the 
open  sea.  Under  her  feet  were  old,  gray,  moss- 
covered  rocks.  Between  the  rocks,  gaining 
nourishment  from  the  innumerable  little  springs  of 
fresh  water  which  abound  on  Orr's  Island,  was  a 
luxuriant  growth  of  wild  plants, — of  blueberries, 
and  delicate  ground  pines.  Overhead  was  an  azure 
sky.  She  was  writing — as  she  had  promised — to 
her  friend  Grace  in  Portland. 

"Captain  Botts  took  me  aboard  the 
Phyllis  again,  I  went  all  over  it,  but  Mr. 
Thomas  was  very  angry  at  Captain 
Botts,  and  it  was  not  his  fault  at  all  for 
I  just  coaxed  him  until  he  took  me.  We 
hunted  everywhere  for  Mr.  Thomas  to 
41 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

get  his  permission,  but  he  was  always  out 
walking, — he  says  he  is  very  fond  of 
walking,  and  I  believe  it,  for  he  passed 
our  house  at  least  a  dozen  times.  I 
stood  right  in  the  window  so  he  could 
see  me,  but  he  never  looked  at  me,  I 
wanted  to  bow  and  thank  him  for  taking 
me  aboard  his  yacht,  but  he  just  walked 
ahead  so  absent-minded,  he  must  have 
had  one  of  his  gloomy  fits.  The  gloves 
came  all  right,  they  are  perfectly  lovely 
and  fit  beautifully,  I  don't  know  how 
long  the  Phyllis  is  going  to  stay  here, 
Captain  Botts  says  he  may  stay  over 
night  or  he  may  stay  a  year,  he  has 
been  here  a  week  already.  It  doesn't 
seem  a  week,  does  it. — 

A  freckled-faced  boy  was  coming  up  the  road, 
whistling.     In  his  hand  he  held  a  little  bunch  of 
cunners, — hanging  limply  by  a  string. 
"Ho, — Tommie,"  she  called. 
The  boy  stopped  whistling  and  looked  over  the 
low  stone  wall. 

42 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Come  here  Tommie,  I  want  you." 

He  walked  leisurely  around  by  the  gateway  and 
came  up  the  grassy  walk  under  the  trees. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Tommie?" 

The  boy  held  up  his  string  of  fish  for  her  inspec 
tion. 

"Fishing, — over   on   Baileys,"  he  answered. 

She  examined  each  little  fish,  separately. 

"That's  a  big  one,"  she  exclaimed.  "And  that 
— and  that." 

Tommie  turned  them  around  slowly. 

"Caught  that  one  in  Mackerel  Cove,"  he  said 
proudly. 

She  marvelled, — and  then  he  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  Hilda, — you  ought  to  see  the  yacht  over 
there.  The  Phyllis." 

"Yes, —  '  Hilda  gazed  into  the  distance  and 
again  sat  down  and  wrote. 

"He  is  still  here,  I  wonder  what  he  is 
waiting  for." 

Then  she  folded  the  letter,  addressed  it  and 
gave  it  to  the  boy  with  two  pennies.  "Take  it 
down  to  the  post  office  for  me,  Tommie." 

43 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  boy  laid  down  his  fish  in  the  shade  of  a 
bush,  and  started  down  the  lane. 

She  called  after  him  before  he  had  reached  the 
gate.  "Ho !— Tommie." 

He  turned  around. 

"You  may  pick  blueberries  here, — any  time  you 
want." 


44 


VIII 

THE  air  was  soft  and  balmy,  the  sky  overhead 
like  turquoise,  barely  a  ripple  ruffled  the  sur 
face  of  the  water,  the  little  boats — held  by 
their  moorings — rode  lightly,  rising  and  falling 
gently,  in  Mackerel  Cove.  Over  on  the  wharf  a 
man  in  a  long  linen  coat  was  industriously  forking 
over  a  large  pile  of  fish.  As  he  picked  them  out  on 
the  fork's  sharp  tines  he  tossed  them  into  a  basket, 
and  another  weighed  them  on  the  scales.  Basket 
after  basket  was  filled  from  the  shiny,  slippery  pile, 
and  still  it  seemed  to  grow  no  less.  Idly  watching 
the  two  men  at  work  lounged  five  or  six  of  the 
natives,  their  eyes  half  closed,  their  muscles  re 
laxed,  as  they  leaned  against  the  walls  of  the 
wharf,  or  sat  on  the  boxes  that  encumbered  it. 
There  was  nothing  of  importance  to  be  done,  noth 
ing  that  could  not  be  done  to-morrow  as  well  as  to 
day.  The  place  was  slumberous,  drowsy,  restful. 

45 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Then  breaking  the  stillness  came  a  sharp 
whistle  from  the  mouth  of  the  cove. 

The  idlers  opened  their  eyes ;  the  man  with  the 
fork  stopped  for  a  moment  his  monotonous  work; 
the  man  at  the  scales  chalked  his  count,  and  the 
wharf  took  on  an  air  of  business  as  the  Aucocisco 
steamed  slowly  alongside. 

Across  the  gang-plank,  holding  their  skirts 
tightly  and  sniffing  at  the  pile  of  fish  came  two 
ladies.  One  was  old,  imperious,  with  white  hair, 
and  gray  eyes,  full  of  shrewdness,  and  of  worldly 
wisdom.  The  other  though  younger,  had  much 
the  same  features,  but  there  was  more  of  curiosity 
than  shrewdness  in  her  dark  eyes — more  of  knowl 
edge  than  of  wisdom. 

Keeping  carefully  away  from  contact  with  his 
fish,  the  old  lady  addressed  the  man  with  the  fork. 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  she  said,  with  the  most 
modern  accent,  "where  we  can  find  a  yacht  called 
the  Phyllis?" 

"There  she  lays,"  he  motioned,  abruptly. 

She  glanced  in  the  direction  indicated  and  saw 
the  yacht  anchored  in  the  middle  of  the  cove. 

46 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Gracious, — "  she  demanded.  "How  shall  we 
ever  get  to  it?" 

"You  might  go  in  a  boat,"  he  suggested. 

She  looked  at  the  little  skiffs  bobbing  up  and 
down  on  the  undulating  surface  of  the  water,  and 
shuddered. 

"I'm  sure  that  I  should  be  dreadfully  seasick," 
she  confessed. 

He  reassured  her.  "Not  to-day,"  he  smiled. 
Then  he  stuck  his  fork  into  an  unusually  large  fish 
and  threw  it  into  the  basket.  The  man  at  the 
scales  resumed  his  counting. 

Then  one  of  the  idlers  sauntered  over  to  the 
ladies. 

"I  can  take  you  over,"  he  said  confidently,  "in 
my  motor  boat." 

The  elderly  lady  was  about  to  interpose  an 
objection,  when  the  other  intervened. 

"That  will  do  nicely,"  she  agreed 

On  board  the  Phyllis  the  mate,  the  engineer,  and 
fireman,  were  indulging  in  a  little  game  of  poker. 
The  engineer  held  a  bob-tailed  flush,  and  in  his 
exaltation  his  mind  was  full  of  the  joy  of  winning. 

47 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  nodded  loftily  towards  the  fireman  whose  luck 
all  of  the  afternoon  had  been  indifferent. 

"Jake, —  "  he  triumphed,  as  he  fanned  his  cards. 
"What  would  you  do  if  you  had  all  the  money  you 
wanted?" 

"I'd  go  back  to  New  York,"  he  answered 
promptly. 

The  engineer  threw  down  his  cards  and  swept 
the  chips  into  his  pile. 

"This  is  good  enough  for  me,"  he  asserted.  "If 
a  man — 

The  mate  who  was  watching  the  motor  boat  as 
she  left  the  wharf,  saw  it  heading  straight  for  the 
Phyllis. 

"Chuck  it,"  he  commanded,  peremptorily. 
"Lady  visitors." 

In  a  moment, — with  the  alacrity  due  to  con 
tinual  practice, — the  cards  disappeared  with  the 
engineer  and  fireman:  and  the  mate,  in  uniform, 
stood  at  the  rail  as  the  motor  boat  puffed  along 
side. 

"They  want  to  go  aboard,"  the  boatman  ex 
plained. 

48 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Against  orders,"  answered  the  mate.  "Owner 
and  captain  ashore." 

"Gracious,"  the  old  lady  gasped. 

"Bill,"  said  the  boatman  to  the  mate,  in  a  deep 
whisper,  as  the  two  came  close  together,  "you  bet 
ter  risk  it, — if  you  want  to  hold  your  job." 

And  the  ladies  went  aboard. 


49 


IX 


T  .^HEN  the  yacht's  launch  hove  in  sight,  around 
Y Y        the    point    of    the    cove, — Bill    shaded    his 
eyes  with  a  big  hairy  hand,  from  the  slant 
ing  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun,  and  gave  vent  to  a 
low  whistle. 

"I'll  swear  to  Guinea,"  he  muttered,  "if  there 
ain't  th'  capt'n  with  another  lady.  Next  thing  th' 
boss  will  come  along  and  the  whole  crew  will  get 
fired." 

As  he  helped  Hilda  over  the  side  of  the  Phyllis, 
she  fluttered  to  the  deck,  in  her  white  gown,  like 
a  sea  gull,  lightly,  gracefully.  "Thank  you, — 
mate,"  she  smiled.  He  reddened  with  pleasure. 


50 


AS  Nelson  was  stepping  into  the  launch  to  go 
aboard  the  Phyllis,  the  captain  thumbed 
around  in  his  vest  pocket  and,  after  some 
fruitless  searching  amongst  numerous  tightly 
folded  bits  of  soiled  paper,  produced  a  carefully 
rolled  little  packet  of  brown  paper,  which  he  pro 
ceeded!  to  disentangle  from  a  mesh  of  knotted 
twine.  Within  the  inner  fold  were  two  white  visit 
ing  cards.  These  the  skipper  handed  to  Nelson 
with  as  much  care  as  if  they  were  precious  bits  of 
spun  glass. 

"The  ladies,"  he  said,  apologetic,  though  why 
he  should  apologize  one  can  only  surmise. 
Nelson  took  the  cards  and  read. 
"Mrs.  Ralph  Thomas." 
"Miss  Anne  Conrad." 

Then  he  tore  them  into  four  pieces  and — quietly 
dropped  them  overboard. 

51 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes, — nothing 
save  the  pit-e,  pit-e,  pit-e,  pit-e,  of  the  motor  as 
the  launch  skimmed  over  the  quiet  waters  of  the 
harbor. 

"Did,  er — Miss  Gunther  meet  the  ladies?"  Nel 
son  asked. 

"Hilda?" 

"Yes." 

The  captain  bent  his  head  low  over  the  machin 
ery.  Apparently  something  had  gone  wrong. 

"I  think  she  did,"  he  nodded  thoughtfully. 

Nelson  pondered. 

Presumably  he  was  still  thinking  of  the  meeting 
between  Hilda  and  the  two  ladies  who  had  come  of 
their  own  volition  to  visit  him  on  the  yacht. 

They  seemed  to  have  made  themselves  quite  at 
home.  They  apologized  for  their  intrusion,  and 
said  that  they  were  on  their  way  to  Bar  Harbor, 
but  had  heard  of  the  Phyllis  in  Portland,  and  had 
run  down  to  see  him.  They  hoped  that  they  had 
not  interfered  with  any  of  his  plans. 

"She  would  come."  Anne  complained  as  she 
sank  into  a  chair  beside  the  other. 

52 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  received  them  politely. 

"We  have  been  all  over  the  yacht,"  said  Mrs. 
Thomas.  "It's  wonderfully  complete." 

"I  never  saw  so  many  books, — why  they  are 
everywhere.  Do  you  read  them  all?"  she  marveled. 

"I  have  read  them  all,"  he  admitted. 

"Fancy,"  sighed  Anne,  as  she  moved  away, 
while  Mrs.  Thomas  drew  her  chair  a  little  closer  to 
Nelson. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  she  began,  "whether  you 
had  any  particular  reason  for  remaining  here.  We 
have  awaited  your  return  to  Portland  for  over  a 
week." 

"No — very  particular  reason,"  he  asserted 
boldly.  His  face  shaded  a  deeper  red  than  usual, 
but  that  might  have  been  due  to  his  invigorating 
walks  on  Orr's  Island. 

"Then  why  on  earth  do  you  stay  in  this  dreadful 
place?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Dreadful  place,"  he  echoed.  His  eyes  lifted  in 
voluntarily  to  the  blue  sky  and  then  dropped  to 
the  bluer  sea.  He  sniffed  the  soft,  delicious  air  and 
shook  his  head. 

58 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  regret,  my  dear  aunt,"  he  said,  "that  I  don't 
quite  agree  with  you.  The  place  to  me  is  simply 
delightful." 

"Simply. — Phew !  I  can  smell  that  pile  of  fish, 
even  here,"  she  shuddered. 

"Some  people  sell  one  thing,  some  another,  these 
people  sell  fish,"  he  said  politely. 

"We  thought  it  would  be  nice  if  you  would  take 
us  to  Bar  Harbor,"  the  old  lady  suggested. 

"Oh,  do,"  said  Anne,  who  had  rejoined  them 
at  the  right  moment. 

Nelson  placed  his  elbows  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair,  put  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together  and  ap 
peared  to  think,  deeply. 

"I  would  like  to — very  much,  but — 

"Well?"  questioned  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"My  time  is  so  fully  occupied,"  he  regretted. 
Tiny  wrinkles  appeared  between  her  well-trained 
eyebrows.  Her  features  lost  their  benign  expres 
sion  and  appeared  harsh  and  worldly.  Her  voice 
was  almost  raspy. 

"Anne !"  she  called. 

"Yes." 

54 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Tell  Nelson  what  you  heard  in  Portland." 

"Oh — dear — it  was  nothing — nothing  at  all," 
she  expostulated.  Then  she  sauntered  up  the  deck, 
to  get  a  better  view  of  the  cove. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  old  lady  as  she 
lowered  her  voice,  "but  people  are  talking." 

"Yes,"  by  holding  his  teeth  tightly  shut,  and  in 
haling  deeply,  he  obtained  a  fairly  satisfactory 
yawn.  "People  are  always  talking, — more  or 
less,"  he  commented. 

Mrs.  Thomas  came  about  and  went  on  the  other 
tack.  The  wrinkles  on  her  brow  disappeared,  she 
smiled  and  her  manner  was  more  genial. 

"The  subject  is  not  always  very  entertaining 
either,"  she  laughed.  "Coming  down  from  New 
port  we  had  several  hours  of  an  animated  discus 
sion  of  the  question  whether  Count  Schyroski  ever 
wore  the  same  suit  of  clothes  twice.  We  grew  quite 
excited  over  it." 

"Think  of  it,"  he  mused,  as  one  who  considered 
the  matter  too  trivial  for  discussion.  He  yawned 
surreptitiously.  Annoyed,  vexed,  Mrs.  Thomas 
gathered  her  wits  together  for  a  final  explanation. 

55 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

To  have  come  all  the  way, — to  have  followed  him 
for  nothing! — to  this  poor,  out  of  the  way  place. 
Her  mind  had  been  set  on  the  trip,  her  plans  all 
made  for  her  nephew, — for  Anne.  And  then  his 
manner, — something  entirely  new  in  his  tone  of 
voice,  his  cool  refusal,  his  indifference — she  had 
observed  his  yawn— all  proceeded  from  some  cause, 
at  present  unknown  to  her. 

Was  it  unknown  to  her? 

"Nelson,"  she  said  confidentially,  "what  do  you 
find  so  charming  about  this  fishy  place?" 

He  smiled,  good  naturedly. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there  are  lots  of  things." 

"For  example — ?"  she  demanded. 

"Well,"  he  explained,  "the  air,  the  green  grass, 
the  simple  life." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "There  is  plenty 
of  air,  I'll  admit ;  is  it  the  air  or  the  grass  that  so 
fully  occupies  your  time?"  She  laughed  a  cul 
tured  staccato. 

"Both,"  he  averred,  solemnly. 

"Nonsense,"  she  said,  reproachfully,  "how  long 
are  you  going  to  stay?" 

56 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  he  said  truthfully. 

She  eyed  him  carefully,  inquisitively. 

"I  knew  it,"  she  sighed.     "It's  a  woman !" 

"My  dear  aunt,  it's  always  a  woman,"  he 
answered,  sententiously. 

"But  in  this  particular  case,  it  might  be  a  fisher 
man's  daughter?"  the  old  lady  suggested. 

"As  you  will,"  he  temporized. 

She  straightened  her  back  and  turned  impatient 
ly  in  her  seat.  "Fishermen  are  such  an  ordinary 
class,"  she  counselled. 

"Saint  Peter  was  a  fisherman,"  he  argued,  "his 
opinion  had  great  influence  in  the  Christian 
Church.  I  should  say  that  as  joint-founder  of  the 
Church  at  Rome  he  was  far  from  being  ordinary." 

"Oh, — Nelson,  I  mean, — her  family,"  she  con 
tended.  "You  know  perfectly  well, — but  you  pre 
fer  to  argue  the  matter." 

"Whose  family  is  under  discussion?"  he  asked. 
And  as  he  spoke  he  threw  back  his  head,  as  a  man 
who  had  no  fear  of  man  or  woman.  His  indolent 
manner  disappeared,  and  his  question  was  brisk, 
abrupt.  His  large  brown  eyes,  glowing  with 

57 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

friendliness,  gazed  frankly  into  hers — they  seemed 
to  invite  her  confidence. 

She  met  his  gaze  with  equanimity. 

"Miss  Gunther's, —  "  she  said,  calmly. 

"A  very  charming  young  woman,"  he  asserted 
boldly. 

She  glanced  forward,  at  Anne  who  was  still 
viewing  the  prospect  from  the  bow. 

"But,  as  I  said  before,  people  are  talking.  One 
cannot  be  too  careful,"  she  cautioned. 

"The  people  be, — blamed,"  he  said. 

"Still  my  dear  Nelson,  when  a  charming  young 
woman  rows  a  mile  or  so  from  shore  in  a  small  boat, 
alone,  and  you  take  her  on  board  the  Phyllis,  and 
— and  disappear  for  a  week ;  what  must  they 
think?"  she  went  on. 

"They  might  think  that  it  was  time  to  leave  me 
to  my  fate,"  he  suggested.  She  sniffed  the  air,  and 
sighed  in  a  way  that  indicated  her  opinion  of  the 
young  woman  in  question,  and  continued. 

"It  will  amount  to  a  scandal  if  she  continues  to 
stay  on  the  yacht." 

"Stay  on  the  yacht,"  he  looked  surprised. 
58 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  saw  her  here  this  afternoon,"  she  insisted. 

He  laughed.  "So  you  did,  I'm  glad  that  you 
met  her." 

"We  did  not  meet  her,"  she  corrected,  with 
much  dignity,  "we  did  not  even  speak  to  her." 

"Then  I'm  sorry  that  you  did  not  meet  her,  and 
that  you  did  not  have  the  good  fortune  to  speak  to 
her,"  he  bowed  urbanely. 

A  carefully  modulated,  perfectly  correct  laugh 
came  from  the  direction  of  the  bow, — and  the 
swish  of  a  lustrous  petticoat. 

"If  you  two  are  going  to  talk  secrets  all  even 
ing,"  interrupted  Anne,  "I  am  going  to  order  a 
solitary  cup  of  tea." 

"We  have  finished,"  said  Nelson,  with  determina 
tion,  "and  your  suggestion  is  timely,  I'll  call  the 
steward." 


59 


XI 


IN  the  recesses  of  his  cabin,  Nelson  indulged  in 
the  gentle  stimulation  produced  by  what  the 
French  call  an  aperatif,  the  English  a  pick- 
me-up,  and  the  Americans  a  cocktail. 

It  was  of  the  variety  known  as  a  Martini — made 
in  his  steward's  most  elaborate  style — a  real  old 
fashioned  Martini,  the  ingredients  of  which  blend 
and  intermix  into  one  gratifying  compound.  At 
his  club  it  was  highly  commended  as  an  efficacious 
remedy  for  extreme  cases  of  irritability. 

As  he  balanced  the  thin  empty  glass  between 
thumb  and  finger  the  wrinkles  on  his  brow  disap 
peared,  his  eyes  grew  brighter,  and  he  began  to 
take  a  more  cheerful  interest  in  the  things  about 
him.  Amongst  these  objects  was  a  little  packet  of 
letters  that  had  accumulated  at  the  Lafayette 
Hotel,  in  Portland — his  last  known  address — and 
which  the  mate  had  brought  with  him,  together 

60 


with  sundry  other  packages,  the  day  before.  Put 
ting  down  his  glass  he  carefully  sorted  over  the 
little  bundle;  separating  the  delicately  tinted, 
large  square  envelopes  from  the  business  ones  with 
their  brazen  corner  cards.  The  latter  he  set  to  one 
side,  with  a  toss  of  impatience,  and  then  went  over 
the  others  more  leisurely.  One  letter,  embossed  on 
its  flap,  engaged  his  attention. 

"That's   from  Lighthall,"  he  suddenly   remem 
bered,  as  the  point  of  his  knife  slipped  under  the 
cover.     "By  George !  I  forgot  all  about  him." 
It  was  awkward,  complicated. 

"Dear  Nelson:"  it  commenced. 

"If  you  really  mean  it  I  shall  come, 
with  great  pleasure.  Your  letter 
reached  me  in  Newport — beastly  dull 
there,  nothing  doing  at  all  excepting  the 
stupid  old  fun  of  watching  the  antics  of 
the  sudden  rich.  Am  writing  this  from 
N.  Y.  Just  ran  down  for  a  day  or  so,  to 
put  up  more  margin.  Market  is  on  the 
toboggan  slide.  Will  meet  you  in  Port 
land,  Lafayette,  Aug.  10th." 
61 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  looked  over  the  top  of  the  letter  to  a 
highly  colored  calendar,  that  hung  on  the  panel 
above  his  desk. 

"August  the  tenth,"  he  exclaimed,  "why  that's 
to-day !" 

He  recalled  the  circumstances.  He  called  to 
mind,  reluctantly,  the  idle  hour  and  fatuous  mood 
in  which  he  had  written  the  letter,  inviting  Light- 
hall  to  share  the  monotony  of  his  vacation  on  the 
Phyllis.  Then,  not  having  received  an  immediate 
answer,  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  "August 
the  tenth,"  he  repeated,  "did  I  say  the  tenth?"  He 
pulled  the  ends  of  his  drooping  mustache  together, 
and  meditated.  Then  his  face  grew  brighter,  and 
his  manner  indicated  one  whose  mind  was  made  up. 

He  sent  for  the  captain. 

"Botts,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "how  far  is  it  to 
Portland?" 

The  skipper's  glance  included  the  empty  glass, 
the  owner's  genial  face,  and  the  view  of  the  cove 
as  seen  through  the  cabin  window. 

"  'Bout  the  same  as  it  was  comin',"  he  replied 
wondering. 

62 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORE'S  ISLAND 

"I  mean  how  soon  could  we  get  there?"  Nelson 
corrected. 

"We  could  do  it  in  an  hour,  easy,"  affirmed  the 
captain. 


XII 

A/f  EANWHILE,  Charlie  Lighthall  was  wander- 
/  1.  ing  around  the  office  rotunda  of  the  Lafay 
ette  Hotel, — waiting  for  something  to  turn 
up.  He  was  of  a  type  that  can  be  seen  almost  any 
day  in  the  cafe  of  any  urban  club.  Small,  slightly 
stooping, — he  wore  a  brown  derby  hat,  a  brown 
drooping  mustache,  a  high  standing  collar,  large 
loose-fitting,  checked  garments,  light  blue  hose, 
and  yellow  shoes.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  pair  of 
yellow  dogskin  gloves,  and  in  the  other  he  had  a 
cane  with  an  oversized  bone  handle.  He  looked 
weary  as  he  smoked  a  large  brown  cigar,  encased 
in  a  paper  ring  of  red  and  gold.  His  patience  was 
exhausted. 

"I'll  wait  until  eight  o'clock,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "and  then  it's  me  for  little  old  N.  Y.— Ugh !" 
he  complained,  "think  of  a  town  of  this  size  and 
not  a  drop  to  drink,"  he  was  vexed. 

64 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  glanced  at  the  office  clock,  and  settled  him 
self  near  a  window.  As  he  smoked  he  became  con 
scious  of  the  fact  that  a  man,  dressed  in  very 
ordinary  clothes,  was  watching  him  closely, — in 
fact  was  deliberately  staring  at  him. 

To  emphasize  his  annoyance  at  the  fellow's  rude 
ness,  he  arose,  turned  his  chair,  and  sat  down  again 
with  his  back  to  the  curious  stranger. 

"Now, — confound  you!"  he  muttered  irritably, 
"gape  and  be — 

"Hello, — little  feller,"  somebody  said,  just 
behind  him,  and  he  looked  up  to  find  the  inquisitive 
stranger  laughing  in  his  face. 

"Well,  I'll  be— Nelson !"  he  gasped. 

"Right, — but  not  the  first  time.  I  fooled  you 
all  right,  and  anybody  who  can  fool  Charles  Lynd- 
hurst  Lighthall, — why  it  will  be  simply  a  walk-over 
with — with — the  Islanders." 

Lighthall  planted  his  cane  behind  him  for  a 
brace,  looked  up  into  his  friend's  beaming  face  and 
joined  in  the  laugh. 

"I'm  sympathetic,"  he  marvelled,  "what's  the 
game?"  .... 

65 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"And  you  are  suddenly  called  to  New  York,  this 
evening,  on  important  business,"  repeated  Light- 
hall. 

"Important  business,  that's  right.  Tell  her, — 
that  is,  hint  to  her,  that  you  heard  on  the  street 
that  I  was  short  of  Amalgamated, — or  any  old 
thing."  Nelson  suggested. 

"And  that  you  had  to  leave  here  on  the  Bar 
Harbor  express,  this — 

He  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  shook  his  head. 
"But  you  can't  do  it." 

"Do  what?"  asked  Nelson,  fidgety. 

"It's  eight  o'clock,  and  the  express  leaves  at 
eight  five,"  he  sat  back  in  his  chair,  -stretched  his 
legs,  and  yawned, — 

"Oh  that  is  immaterial." 

"Then  you  are  not  going  to  New  York?" 

"You  can  tell  her—" 

"I  shall  not,"  said  Lighthall  bluntly. 

The  "little  feller"  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair 
and  returned  Nelson's  stare. 

"Not  a  deliberate  lie,  you  know,"  he  explained. 

Nelson's  face  reddened  with  anger. 
66 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Lie,"  he  repeated,  "certainly  not." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence. 

Nelson  saw  his  reflection  in  the  plate  glass  op 
posite.  His  anger  seemed  to  increase.  Perhaps  he 
was  thinking  that  the  sacrifice  of  his  mustache  was 
a  small  affair  as  compared  to  the  rebuke  just  ad 
ministered  by — yes,  that  was  probably  the  most 
humiliating  thing  of  all — Charlie  Lighthall!  The 
butt  for  all  the  club.  A  man  whom  his  friends 
never  took  seriously.  He  was  paying  quite  a  price 
for  his  fun.  "Fun — nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  re 
torted  mentally,  "I  believe  that  I  could  lie  and 
steal  for  Hilda." 

Then  his  glance  softened  as  he  turned  to  Light- 
hall.  "A  lie  that  does  no  one  any  harm,  is  classed 
differently  I  imagine." 

"A  lie,  is  a  lie,"  his  companion  asserted  dogged 
ly.  At  the  same  time  his  thin  nostrils  dilated  with 
pride.  It  was  something  to  his  credit  to  corner  the 
big  man  in  front  of  him.  Nelson  was  known  to 
quite  a  wide  circle  of  readers  for  his  admirable 
work  called  "Creative  Crudities,"  a  sort  of  lament 
over  the  so-called  mistakes  of  Providence — a  book 

67 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

of  keen  subtleties ;  and  to  find  the  author  below  his 
ideals,  temporizing  with  the  truth, — it  gave  him  a 
feeling  of  self-exaltation. 

Nelson  smiled  good-naturedly. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "call  it  what  you  please, 
but  do  me  the  favor  to  say  to  my  aunt,  that  the 
yacht  is  at  her  disposal,  to  go  where  she  pleases, 
and  that  you  will  accompany  her  and  Miss 
Conrad." 

"And  you  won't  go  with  us?"  questioned  the 
other  suspiciously. 

Nelson  detected  the  equivocal  expression  on  his 
face. 

"I  really  must  attend  to  a  matter  of  very  serious 
importance,"  he  said,  apologetic.  Then  he  arose, 
and  Lighthall  followed  him  to  the  door  of  the 
hotel. 

"That  carriage,"  he  said,  pointing  to  one  at  the 
curb,  "will  take  you  to  the  wharf, — the  launch  is 
waiting  there." 

Lighthall  turned  back. 

"My  baggage,"  he  said,  advancing  towards  the 
office. 

68 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  overtook  him. 

"It  is  in  the  carriage, — and  I  took  the  liberty  of 
settling  your  bill." 

Lighthall  protested. 

"A  mere  trifle, — please."  Nelson  gripped  his 
hand  with  unaccustomed  fervor. 

"Botts  will  see  to  everything,"  he  reminded  him. 
"You  are  really  doing  me  a  great  favor.  Good- 
bye."  .... 

"Confound  it!"  said  Nelson  desperately,  "what 
an  arrant  fool  am  I  becoming,  anyway.  Have  I 
reached  all  these  years  to  find  myself  the  victim  of 
love  at  first  sight?"  .... 

He  was  seated  in  an  easy  chair  in  his  room  at  the 
Lafayette,  where  the  hum  of  the  street  rose  and 
fell  in  the  still  night  air.  Beyond  the  city  was  the 
bay,  its  waters  gleaming  like  burnished  silver  in  the 
moon's  rays,  the  air  from  its  surface  fanning  his 
brow.  Beneath  his  window,  over  the  way,  in  the 
cool  green  of  a  little  park,  there  was  a  perpetual 
tinkling  of  drops  of  water  gently  splashing  in  a 
tiny  fountain.  Nelson  had  a  little  table  by  his  side, 
and  he  was  trying  to  start  the  new  book  on  a  sub- 

69 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

ject  that  had  been  weaving — weaving,  tormenting 
and  troubling  him  for  some  time  past. 

But  now  he  put  down  his  pencil,  and  went  over 
again  the  meeting  with  Hilda.  As  the  picture 
developed,  he  saw  the  little  white  boat  and  its  oc 
cupant,  rising  and  falling  on  the  silky  surface  of 
the  water;  and  the  glory  of  her  hair.  Then  the 
coloring  of  the  picture  became  more  vivid,  he  could 
almost  hear  her  voice,  round,  flexible, — a  woman's 
voice.  He  observed  now,  with  increasing  interest, 
the  suppleness  of  her  figure,  as  her  lithe  body  bent 
to  the  stroke  of  the  oars, — and  her  eyes,  looking 
straight  into  his.  Luminous  dark  blue  eyes,  show 
ing  dreamily  through  the  surrounding  crimson 
haze.  And  her  flashing  white  teeth.  The  picture 
vanished,  and  he  found  himself  saying  "bo — it"  for 
boat. 

Then  he  got  up  and  examined  his  features  in  the 
mirror.  His  smooth  face  looked  back  at  him  from 
the  glass.  "Fool, — old  fool,"  he  muttered  scorn 
fully.  Then  he  went  back  to  the  window,  and 
watched  the  movements  of  the  people  passing  to 
and  fro.  And  as  he  contemplated  the  peaceful 

70 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

scene,  a  feeling  of  quiet  happiness,  of  content,  began 
to  grow  within  him,  so  that  his  heart  grew  tender, 
and  he  repeated  the  accusation,  "fool, — old  fool," 
in  a  friendly  tone.  And  the  feeling  of  quiet  hap 
piness  grew  and  expanded  into  a  sudden  illumina 
tion  of  rare  brightness.  The  starry  night,  the  deli 
cious  smell  of  the  sea,  the  voices  of  the  night,  the 
tinkling  of  the  drops  of  water  falling  from  the 
fountain,  all  seemed  to  take  on  a  new, — a  poignant 
sense,  harmonious,  blissful. 

He  sat  down  again  and  took  up  his  pencil.  He 
was  resolved  to  carry  out  his  original  thought. 
"Creative  Crudities,"  must  be  followed  by  some 
thing  even  more  scholarly,  more  convincing, 
learned.  But  it  must  also  be — Life. 

His  resolution  to  break  away  from  his  surround 
ings,  to  mingle  with  the  simple  Islanders,  was  no 
hastily  formed  plan, — so  he  argued  to  himself.  He 
had  shaved  his  mustache,  cast  aside  his  fine  raiment, 
and  donned  an  ordinary  suit  of  ready-made  clothes, 
so  that  he  could  be  one  of  them,  live  with  them,  and 
study  their  habits.  And  then,  he  would  write  his 
book.  He  began  to  scribble  on  the  pad, — in  search 

71 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

of  a  title.  "The  Masses,"  he  wrote.  "That  sounds 
well,"  he  commented.  "I  could  write  about  their 
work,  their  toil."  Then  his  heart  began  singing, 
as  he  recalled  the  vision  of  a  road  up-hill  and  down, 
Avinding  through  forests  of  pines,  and  maples,  of 
alluring  by-paths,  soft,  green,  mossy.  Of  over 
hanging  boughs,  of  little  white  cottages  buried 
deep  in  orchards. 

"Nonsense,"  he  complained,  "I've  had  too  much 
vacation.  I  must  get  to  work." 

He  bent  over  the  little  table.  He  tried  to  con 
centrate  his  mind  on  the  problem  of  Life.  He 
worked  hard  over  two  or  three  fine  phrases.  Then 
he  threw  down  his  pencil  and  stared  out  of  the 
window 

It  was  there  again, — the  picture.  Her  deep  blue 
eyes,  laughing,  teasing,  indifferent.  He  could  see 
them  plainly,  in  the  blithesome  awakening  that  had 
come  to  him  through  the  darkness. 

Again  he  took  his  pad  of  paper,  and  began  to 
write.  Then  he  threw  it  impetuously  across  the 
room.  "No,"  he  said. 

"Not  to-night,  not  to-night." 
72 


XIII 

THE  next  morning,- — what  a  different  feeling  it 
brings  to  each  individual  life — Nelson  awoke 
to  a  world  that  was  the  same,  and  yet,  that 
was    different.      A    flood    of    sunlight    brightened 
every  corner  of  his  room,  touching  the  old  furni 
ture,   radiating   from   the   mirror,    freshening   the 
faded  curtains,  harmonizing  the  tints  and  shadows 
on  the  wall,  burnishing,  gliding,  beautifying  every 
angle,  every  nook,  of  the  apartment. 

He  awoke  to  the  joy  of  life,  to  the  wonderful 
beauty  of  the  world,  to  the  song  that  his  heart  was 
singing  in  chorus  with  the  birds  that  were  twit 
tering  outside  of  his  window. 

His  watch  on  the  little  table  at  his  bedside 
marked  the  early  hour  of  six,  as  he  arose  and  began 
his  preparations  for  the  day.  Over  in  the  corner, 
where  he  had  thrown  it  the  night  before,  he  found 
his  tablet,  and  he  wondered — as  he  regarded  the 

73 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

words  that  he  had  written — whether  "The  Masses" 
expressed  the  thoughts  that  were  rioting  through 
his  brain.  I  imagine  that  such  were  his  thoughts, 
for  his  face  grew  troubled  as  he  read  aloud: 

"With  the  masses  there  is  much  of  gloom,  and 
misery,  their  work  is  constant,  their  pleasures  few ; 
they  go  about — 

Zip— he  tore  off  that  page  and  crumpled  it  in 
his  hand. 

"When  they  return  at  night  to  their  comfort 
less  homes  their  hearts  are  as  lead,  and  their 
moods — 

Zip — zip — another,  and  another  page  followed 
the  first,  and  behold — the  pad  was  clean  and  new 
again,  its  smooth  white  surface  ready  for  new  im 
pressions 

In  his  outward  appearance  he  had  changed 
greatly.  His  mustache  had  been  shaved  and  his 
hair  cut  so  short  that  it  revealed  an  incipient  bald 
ness  on  the  back  of  his  head.  When  he  had  added 
a  pair  of  large  spectacles — the  glasses  of  which 
were  plain  and  of  no  convexity — his  best  friends 

might  have  failed  to  recognize  him 

74 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  chose  to  go  down  to  Orr's  Island  on  the 
afternoon  boat — the  Aucocisco — because,  well, — 
because  there  might  be  a  chance  of  meeting  Hilda. 

Of  course,  even  though  such  a  coincidence  oc 
curred,  she  would  not  have  known  him  in  his  dis 
guise.  So,  one  can  only  guess  at  his  motives, 
which,  however,  were  strong  enough  to  keep  Nel 
son  idling  around  Portland  all  of  that  day  in  a 
kind  of  fool's  paradise. 

In  half  an  hour  he  had  deposited  sundry  checks 
in  the  bank,  had  obtained  a  small  pocket  check 
book,  to  be  used  in  case  of  dire  necessity,  and  then 
had  walked  down  to  the  end  of  a  wharf,  from  which 
point  he  could  see  the  Phyllis,  riding  lazily  at 
anchor  in  the  harbor. 

Overhead,  a  light  breeze  blew  faintly  in  from  the 
sea;  long  low  schooners  with  three — four — five 
masts  lay  deep  in  the  water,  heavily  burdened  with 
coal  from  Southern  mines.  A  large  white  steamer 
from  Boston,  crowded  with  passengers,  swept 
majestically  past  him.  Sail  boats  of  infinite 
variety  tacked,  went  about,  and  sailed  away,  only 
to  return  and  repeat  their  manoauvres.  Just  beside 

75 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

him  two  men  in  a  boat  were  cautiously  sorting  over 
a  pile  of  lobsters, — looking  for  shorts.  The  air 
was  full  of  the  enticing  odors  that  arise  from 
wharves  and  shipping ;  the  smell  of  tarred  rope, 
of  wooden  boxes  and  barrels,  of  all  the  odoriferous 
smells  that  hang  in  a  boy's  memory  and  incite 
him  to  the  folly  of  truancy. 

The  bay,  in  the  glow  of  the  early  day,  was  blue 
as  sapphire.  In  the  distance  was  an  island,  and 
beyond  that  could  be  seen  the  dim  outlines  of  other 
islands,  and  more  islands — almost  lost  to  view  in 
the  summer  haze 

From  place  to  place  he  sauntered  idly  the  long 
summer's  day.  Then  he  began  to  consult  his 
watch,  and  each  time  that  he  looked  at  it  he  would 
examine  sharply  the  movements  of  the  second  hand, 
to  see  whether  it  was  really  moving.  From  four 
o'clock  until  five,  time  dragged  with  the  most  exas 
perating  slowness.  From  five  o'clock  until  ten 
minutes  after,  the  Aucocisco  seemed  to  his  impa 
tient  mind  to  be  permanently  built  to  the  wharf. 

A  moment  later  she  backed  out  slowly  into  the 
harbor.  Standing  on  the  after-deck,  Nelson 

7G 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

scanned  the  various  craft,  in  search  of  the  Phyllis. 
She  was  nowhere  in  view.  Then  he  went  forward 
and  there  was  the  yacht,  just  crossing  the  steamer's 
bow.  He  was  so  close  to  them  that  he  could  dis 
tinguish  his  aunt  and  Anne,  on  the  deck, — appar 
ently  in  close  conversation  with  Lighthall.  Prob 
ably  the  latter  was  telling  the  ladies  how  he, 
Nelson,  had  been  called  suddenly  away — on  busi 
ness  to  New  York — and  his  aunt  was  exchanging 
glances  with  Anne, — over  Lighthall's  head  while 
she  listened  to  his  explanations.  Then  they  would 
laugh  and  sail  away. 

"Good  luck,  good  luck,"  he  muttered  exultantly. 
Then  he  pushed  up  two  steamer  chairs  close  to  the 
rail,  and  pulling  his  pipe  from  a  side  pocket  he 
filled  it  leisurely,  and,  sitting  down,  he  lazily  put 
his  feet  on  the  other  chair,  and  gave  himself  up  to 
blissful  anticipation. 

The  sun  shone  gently,  through  a  haze  of  pinkish 
yellow.  On  the  horizon,  soft  grey  clouds  edged 
with  narrow  bands  of  gold  mingled  with  the  blue 
of  the  sea — a  mirror-like  sea  that  reflected  the 
colors  of  the  sky  in  its  translucent  depths.  Then 

77 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

gently,  quietly,  came  to  his  ear  the  sound  of  music. 
Somewhere  in  the  bow  were  a  couple  of  musicians 
with  a  harp  and  violin.  He  listened  as  the  strains 
wafted  towards  him  on  the  light  breeze,  and  remem 
bering  the  words,  he  murmured  them  softly,  keep 
ing  time  to  the  music. 

It  was  Schubert's — he  searched  his  memory  in 
the  effort  of  recalling  the  last  time  that  he  had 
heard  it ;  then  he  abandoned  the  effort. 

It  was  never  like  this,  no  matter  where  he  had 
heard  it.      He  was   content   to   sit   and   hum    the 
words : 
"Midst  the  bright  sheen  of  the  mirror-like  waters, 

Swan-like  is  floating  the  wavering  boat; 
Gently  along  on  those  glittering  waters, 
Glideth  our  spirit,  away  like  a  boat." 

The  evening  was  settling  calm  and  peacefully 
over  the  bay,  and  now  the  crafts  of  all  kinds  were 
sailing  to  anchor — gliding  silently  to  their  re 
spective  harbors.  When  the  music  had  ceased  a 
dark-featured  man,  his  head  bare,  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  came  to  him  for  a  contribution. 

In  his  present  mood  he  was  generous. 
78 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Crumpling  up  a  dollar  bill  in  his  hand  so  as  to 
avoid  publicity,  he  dropped  it  in  the  hat.  The  ex 
pressive  dark  eyes  of  the  man  twinkled  understand- 
ingly.  Leaning  over  Nelson  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"The  next,  I  play  for  you — yes."  He  nodded,  and 
smiled  confidentially.  Then  he  went  forward  and 
whispered  to  his  companion,  to  the  man  with  the 
harp.  There  was  much  preliminary  tuning,  and 
then  the  popular  melody  arose  in  the  air  from 
Spenser's  Opera: 

"Love,  love,  mystery  of  love, 
Sweet  gift  sent  from  above; 
Joy,  joy,  moment  supreme, 
When  love  unfolds  its  dream." 
He  leaned  forward  in  rapt  attention.   The  spirit 
of  the  dreamy  waltz  was  calling — calling  to  him 
alone  amongst  the  crowd  of  passengers.     The  soul 
of  the  old  violin  was  vibrating  with  the  joy  of  life, 
it  was  telling  him  things,  little  promises  of  future 
possibilities,   that   thrilled  his   heart  with  blissful 
anticipation. 

How  it  recalled  a  certain  night, — a  box  in  the 
theatre  from  which  he  could  see  a  wide  expanse  of 

79 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

upturned  faces — tense,  happy,  hopeful!  How  he 
had  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smiled  cynically ! 
He  glanced  around  the  groups  of  pas 
sengers.  Many  of  them  were  summer  boarders,  on 
their  way  to  the  several  islands.  He  noticed 
their  faces — pale  and  drawn,  with  the  blight  of  the 
city  upon  them.  Some  were  Islanders,  returning 
with  their  purchases  made  in  Portland.  In  front 
of  him  were  two  college  boys — he  knew  by  their 
conversation — dressed  in  rough,  dirty  corduroys, 
flannel  shirts,  and  leather  belts  around  their  waists. 
They  looked  like  cowboys.  They  were  unwashed 
and  unshaven,  and  their  actions  indicated  a  desire 
on  their  part  to  live  up  to  their  appearance. 
Nelson  regarded  them  closely,  with  an  eye  for 
material  in  his  forthcoming  book,  and  then  dis 
carded  them  as  counterfeits — not  genuine.  He 
surveyed  the  little  group  of  people  with  good- 
natured  tolerance.  Each  individual  seemed  to  be 
bent  on  business,  action,  the  restless  energy  of  the 
masses.  But  surrounding  them  and  enveloping 
them  was  the  calm  of  the  evening — of  rest.  And 
the  delicious  smell  of  the  sea — cool,  refreshing, 

SO 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

that  permeated  his  senses,  and  inspired  his  imagi 
nation — bringing  back  memories  that  were  not 
memories,  but  imaginings,  illusive  images  of  the 
mind,  that  filled  his  heart  with  the  pleasures  of 
hope,  and  a  longing  for  fulfillment  .... 
Suddenly,  with  a  bump  against  the  piling  of  the 
wharf,  the  Aucocisco  came  to  a  standstill,  and  a 
voice  recalled  his  wandering  senses : 

"All  off  for  Orr's  Island." 

A  little  crowd  of  idlers  had  gathered  on  the 
wharf  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  evening  boat — it 
was  one  of  the  mild  excitements  of  each  day.  He 
had  just  crossed  the  gang  plank,  when  he  noticed 
a  face,  upturned  to  the  boat,  in  the  full  glare  of  a 
large  lantern,  within  reach  of  his  hand ;  he  brushed 
against  her  garments  as  he  passed. 

"Hilda,"  he  whispered  to  himself. 

Then  he  walked  up  to  the  hotel  and  wrote  his 
new  name  in  the  guest  book: 

"William   Collins,  Philadelphia." 


81 


XIV 

"OERCHED  up  on  the  hillside,  overlooking  the 
X  rocks  and  the  sea,  in  the  shade  of  a  young 
pine  tree,  where  the  air  was  always  warm 
and  soft,  where  the  birds  sang  in  the  trees  over 
head,  Hilda,  dressed  in  white  skirt  and  gray  knit 
jacket,  with  a  bunch  of  red  berries  pinned  in  her 
belt,  was  reading  a  letter  from  Grace. 

"So  you  actually  stopped  the  yacht, 
and  made  him  take  you  aboard.  Well, 
Hilda, — I  could  never  have  done  such  a 
thing — and  all  by  yourself.  John  said 
it  was  'nervy,' — but  he  is  a  man.  I  sent 
the  gloves  right  off,  because  I  hate  to 
owe  anything,  and  am  glad  they  suited 
you. 

"Dear    me,    how    romantic    it   was,    I 
wonder     if     Mr.     Thomas     is     married. 
Somehow  I  don't  believe  that  he  is,  but  of 
82 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

course  one  can  never  tell.  I  often  wish 
that  we  were  rich  and  owned  a  yacht. 
Don't  you?  John  is  just  the  dearest 
husband,  but  he  has  to  work  so  hard, 
and  slave  all  day  down  in  the  bank,  and 
in  the  evening  he  is  so  tired  that  we 
never  go  anywhere.  But  we  are  saving 
up  to  buy  a  motor  boat,  and  when  John 
gets  his  vacation  next  summer  perhaps 
we  are  going  to  take  a  little  cruise. 
John  says  that  Mr.  Thomas  must  be 
pretty  rich  judging  by  the  size  of  the 
checks  that  he  deposited  in  the  bank. 
Don't  say  that  I  told  you  this,  John 
gets  so  angry  when  I  say  anything  about 
bank  business, — well,  good-bye. 

"P.  S. — I  forgot  to  say  that  the 
Phyllis  left  here  last  evening  for  Bar 
Harbor — so  John  told  me,  perhaps  you 
knew  that,  but  I  thought  I  would  men 
tion  it." 

Hilda  gazed  off  into  the  sea,  with  its  rippling 
waves   gently   sliding   up   on    the   brown   shelving 

83 


13RUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

rocks,  its  white  caps  off  in  the  distance ;  over  the 
islands,  in  and  out, — and  between  which  were  white 
sails;  down  to  the  motor  boats,  darting  busily  up 
to  one  point,  then  to  another, — the  fishermen  busy 
with  their  lobster  pots.  She  picked  a  delicate  blue 
wild  flower,  growing  at  her  feet,  and  put  it  in  the 
envelope,  with  the  letter. 

"The  Phyllis  in  Bar  Harbor,"  she  sighed. 

She  arose  and  turned  her  face  towards  home — 
to  the  little  white  cottage  on  the  hill. 

"Well, — I  must  do  my  work." 


84 


PART  SECOND 


4£T  .^ELL, — Mr.  Collins,  how  do  you  propose  to 

\Y     study  the  masses  on  this  tiny  bit  of  God's 

country?"     Nelson  reflected  as  he  arose 

the  next  morning  and  surveyed  the  prospect  from 

his  open  window. 

It  was  beautiful  as  before;  the  quiet  bay,  the 
ever  changing  sea,  the  keen  salt  air,  the  incense 
from  the  pines  were  there;  but — he  was  different. 

To  a  man  of  his  tastes  and  habits  the  step  that 
he  had  taken  was  a  long  one  in  advance  of  any 
thing  that  he  had  ever  attempted.  Until  a  few 
days  ago — before  a  woman's  voice  had  hailed  him 
from  a  little  white  boat,  in  Portland  harbor — he 
had  led  a  life  more  or  less  detached  from  ordinary 
people,  and  had  taken  a  certain  kind  of  pleasure 
in  the  fact  that  he  could  pursue  his  own  fancy. 
He  had  money,  his  pictures,  his  clubs,  a  few  con 
genial  friends,  his  books,  an  artistic  temperament, 

87 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

an  eye  for  beauty,  and  a  sense  of  humor ;  and  with 
all  this  he  had  a  well-developed  literary  faculty 
that  enabled  him  to  do  some  leisurely  writing 
when  he  was  in  the  mood.  As  he  had  grown  older 
he  had  been  writing  more  and  reading  less.  He 
had  become  more  meditative,  more  addicted  to  idle 
saunterings,  and  observation.  From  his  books  he 
had  deduced  a  sort  of  philosophy  which  taught 
him  to  avoid  the  anticipation  of  the  calamities  that 
do  not  happen,  and  to  live,  as  far  as  possible,  in 
the  present.  He  had  had  a  wide  experience  in  the 
world  of  society,  a  tarnished  world  that  was  sham 
and  tinsel,  with  its  ridiculous,  pretentious,  flum 
mery.  He  had  appraised  women  at  what  he 
thought  they  were  worth,  as  a  necessary  part  of 
the  universal  scheme,  but  not  of  an  individual  life. 
Yet  a  woman's  voice  had  called  to  him  alone  on 
the  water,  and — behold  a  world  that  is  green  and 
fragrant,  a  real,  sterling  world,  with  an  atmos 
phere  that  set  at  naught  his  philosophy,  that  took 
his  mind  from  the  present,  to  blissful  anticipation 
of  the  future.  In  the  light  of  a  bright  morning 
he  was  conscious  that  the  step  that  he  had  taken 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

was  not  without  its  ludicrous  side.  When  he 
thought  it  over  very  judicially,  he  was  obliged  to 
confess  to  himself  that  this  sudden  enthusiasm  of 
his  to  study  the  masses  might  evaporate  into  very 
superficial  observations,  unless  Hilda  could  be  made 
to  take  an  interest  in  the  subject,  or  at  least  be 
herself  a  subject,  a  type  of  the  poor  fisher  folks 
whose  wrongs  he  meant  to  set  before  the  world  in 
the  best  literary  style.  He  argued,  plausibly,  that 
the  honorarium  that  an  indulgent  publisher  might 
pay  for  his  services,  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
case,  as  his  fortune  was  ample  for  all  his  needs,  and 
his  motives  were  purely  benevolent. 

The  ludicrous  feature  was  the  intense  desire  that 
he  felt  to  meet  her,  to  be  with  her,  to  hear  her 
talk,  to  gaze  into  her  eyes,  to  confess  all  that  he 
had  done — for  her.  He  was  not  in  love, — not  this 
morning,  but  a  comrade,  a  fellow-student,  would 
help  him  wonderfully  in  the  serious  work  for  which 
he  had  temporarily  cast  aside  his  life  of  luxurious 
ease.  But  he  must  be  careful.  He  must  explain 
to  her — without  discovering  himself — just  enough 
of  his  plans  to  engage  her  interest. 

89 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Therefore  he  must  go  and  see  her — at  once.  So 
he  inquired  the  way  to  Hagen  Gunther's  cottage. 
It  was  not  hard  to  find.  Everyone  on  the  island 
knew  Captain  Gunther.  Everyone  liked  him. 

He  was  called  "old  man  Gunther,"  not  because 
he  was  old,  but  because  everyone  felt  the  necessity 
of  using  some  form  of  affection  whenever  they 
spoke  of  him.  He  was  stout,  rosy-cheeked,  genial, 
with  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  that  twinkled  with  an  ex 
cess  of  good  nature.  As  Nelson  approached  he 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Fine  morning." 

"Delightful,"  said  Nelson,  with  enthusiasm. 
"Are  you  Captain  Gunther?" 

"That's  my  name,"  he  admitted. 

Having  made  up  his  mind  what  he  was  to  say 
he  proceeded  at  once  to  business. 

"Er, — have  you  any  rooms  to  let — that  is,  one 
room?"  He  scanned  the  little  cotttage,  wondering 
where,  in  its  diminutive  interior,  a  spare  room 
could  possibly  be  located.  He  felt  the  eyes  of  the 
captain  upon  him,  carefully  inspecting  him  from 
head  to  toe,  in  the  covert,  shrewd  way  that  is 

90 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

habitual  with  seamen.  The  survey  was  evidently 
satisfactory. 

"How  long  did  you  calculate  to  stay?"  he  ques 
tioned.  Then  a  voice  came  clearly.  "Uncle 
Hagen."  And  he  met  her — face  to  face — as  she 
suddenly  appeared  from  the  direction  of  the 
orchard. 

He  bowed  as  the  captain  said  simply,  "My  niece 
Hilda."  Then  he  continued,  "This  gentleman 
wants  to  rent  our  spare  room,  Hilda ;  you  can 
arrange  that."  He  had  settled  the  matter  as  far 
as  he  was  concerned,  and  he  went  whistling  about 
his  business. 

As  he  made  his  bow  he  was  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  she  was  looking  him  over  with  a  critical  eye ; 
a  trifle  longer  and  more  critically,  perhaps,  than 
the  circumstances  warranted.  It  made  him  un 
easy,  and  he  felt  his  heart  thumping,  and  his  face 
growing  redder  under  her  searching  gaze.  He 
•had  decided  to  disguise  his  voice,  if  necessary,  but 
when  he  attempted  it,  the  result  was  a  sort  of 
quavering  falsetto  that  -expired  in  his  throat. 

She  stood  smiling,  unembarrassed ;  and  then,  ap- 
91 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

parently  satisfied  with  her  conclusions, — perhaps 
with  just  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice, — "How  long 
would  you  like  to  stay?"  she  asked. 

"Forever  and — forever,"  Nelson  said  to  himself 
as  he  beheld  her  loveliness.  His  self-possession 
was  returning.  The  calm  way  in  which  she  had 
addressed  him  on  the  business  in  hand  was  reassur 
ing.  It  was  evident  from  her  manner  that  she 
had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  other  than  a  casual 
summer  boarder. 

He  had  made  an  excellent  beginning. 

"I  am  uncertain,"  he  answered  her.  "It  all  de 
pends  on  you." 

For  the  instant  he  had  forgotten  all  about 
his  disguise,  and  had  spoken  his  thoughts.  Fort 
unately  she  laughed,  a  trilling,  sprightly  cadence. 

"On  rne, —  "  she  wondered. 

"On  you,"  he  went  on  steadily,  his  wits  having 
returned,  "your  Uncle  seems  to  have  left  the  mat 
ter  for  you  to  arrange." 

"Oh—" 

They  stood  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence,  beside 
the  stone  curbing  of  an  old  well ;  it  was  a  sweep 

92 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

well,  where  the  bucket  was  hung  to  the  end  of  a 
long  pole,  by  which  it  was  lowered,  and  then  drawn 
to  the  surface  filled  to  the  brim  with  delicious  pure 
water,  the  same  kind  of  a  well  that  our  forefathers 
digged  in  the  virgin  rock,  and  walled  up  with 
clean  stone  linings ;  a  well  from  which  they  drank 
deep  draughts  of  limpid  water,  and  thanked  God 
for  their  blessings. 

To  be  in  her  society  was  sufficient  bliss ;  to  feel 
the  warm  soft  air,  full  of  the  pine-fragrance;  to 
hear  the  birds  singing  overhead,  and  the  buzzing 
of  the  insects. 

It  was  Hilda  who  broke  the  silence. 

"You  may  have  the  room  as  long  as  you  wish," 
she  said  thoughtfully. 

"Thank  you."  He  accepted  fervently.  "I'll 
pay  a  month  in  advance." 

"Oh —  "  she  stopped,  hesitated. 

"Well?"  he  wondered. 

"I  forgot  to  mention  the  price,"  she  explained. 

"Oh,  never  mind  the  price,"  he  reassured  her. 

"It's  five  dollars  a  week, — without  meals,"  she 
informed  him. 

93 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Without  meals,"  he  repeated  carelessly.  "Who 
cares  for  meals,  anyway?"  he  asked  his  exulting 
spirit.  Were  they  not  standing  side  by  side, 
within  touch  of  each  other,  conversing  together, 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes? — 

"The  hotel  is  not  far,"  she  suggested. 

"Only  a  step,"  he  affirmed.  "I  can  easily  ar 
range  for  meals." 

He  bowed,  and  was  moving  away. 

"Oh—"  exclaimed  Hilda. 

He  turned  expectantly. 

"Your  name, —  "  she  reminded  him. 

"Name — ?     My  name  is  Thomas — Collins." 

"Thomas  Collins,"  she  repeated,  slowly. 

"William,"  he  corrected,  "William  Collins." 
Then  he  pounded  himself,  mentally,  for  having  so 
nearly  forgotten  his  part. 

"You  will  be  here  this — this  evening?"  she  ques 
tioned. 

"If  convenient, — to — you,"  he  asked. 

His  heart  was  singing — singing,  his  temples 
throbbing  with  the  quick  pulsating  joy  of  living. 
Never  was  the  sky  so  blue,  the  grass  so  green,  the 

94 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

air  so  keen  and  filled  with  ozone.  Never  was  a  lit 
tle  white  cottage  so  artistic,  in  its  setting  of  cling 
ing  vines  and  flowers.  Never  was  a  princess,  in 
fame  or  fiction,  who  could  compare  with  the  de 
mure  maiden  who  stood  before  him. 

"Quite  convenient,"  she  said,  flashing  a  smile 
into  his  eyes  that  near  caused  him  giddiness:  and 
she  walked  away,  through  the  orchard,  toward  the 
pines. 


95 


II 


NELSON'S  study  of  the  masses  began  the  day 
following.  He  had  Uncle  Hagen  marooned 
in  an  old  splint-bottomed  chair,  in  a  shady 
place,  behind  the  barn.  The  captain  had  done 
most  of  his  chores  about  the  place,  finishing  his 
afternoon  tasks  by  carrying  two  large  tin  buckets 
of  fresh  water  from  the  well  to  the  kitchen.  Nel 
son  sat  in  a  sailor's  hammock  that  swung  between 
two  sturdy  apple  trees.  As  he  swung  slowly  to 
and  fro  he  could  observe  a  graceful  figure,  en 
veloped  in  a  voluminous  apron,  flitting  back  and 
forth,  from  one  room  to  the  other,  in  the  cottage. 
The  figure  was  doing  her  best  to  keep  out  of  his 
sight,  and  attend  to  her  household  duties  at  the 
same  time.  The  windows  were  wide  open,  and  her 
efforts  required  some  skilful  manoeuvres. 

"You  can't  make  much —  "  asserted  Nelson. 
"I'm  not  what  you  might  call  rich,"  the  cap- 
96 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

tain  admitted.  "But  we  don't  have  much  use  for 
money  down  here." 

He  pulled  down  the  peak  of  his  old  canvas  cap 
to  shade  his  eyes  from  the  slanting  rays  of  the 
afternoon  sun,  and  puffed  at  his  pipe  contentedly. 

Nelson  shifted  his  seat  a  little,  to  obtain  a  bet 
ter  view  of  the  cottage  windows,  and  lapsed  into 
silence. 

Uncle  Hagen  peered  from  under  his  cap,  watch 
ing  him.  "Now,  what  might  your  business  be?" 
he  inquired,  frankly. 

"My  business — ?"  "Oh — I  write  books — and 
things." 

"Any  money  in  it?"  said  the  captain,  swinging 
one  leg  over  the  other,  and  holding  his  elbow  in 
the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"Not  much,"  Nelson  confessed. 

"Should  think  not,  never  suit  me." 

He  turned  his  chair  a  little,  and  glanced  at  the 
boats  in  the  bay.  They  had  turned  with  the 
ebbing  tide,  and  were  pulling  restlessly  at  their 
anchors. 

"Now  take  fishing,"  he  added,  keeping  his  eye 
97 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

on  the  boats.  "Of  course,  it's  hard  work,  but 
when  everything  is  going  right,  and  a  fair  wind, 
— well,  it  suits  me  all  right.  There  ain't  any 
thing  better." 

"There's  not  any  money  in  fishing,"  Nelson 
suggested. 

"Money? — no,  I  guess  there  ain't.  But  there's 
a  living.  Ain't  anybody  starving  on  this  island, 
as  I  know  of." 

"Dangerous,  and  risky,"  persisted  Nelson. 

The  captain  smiled.  "Sounds  just  like  a  story 
book — I  always  liked  those  tales  of  the  dangers  of 
the  sea,  and  the  almighty  deep.  Hilda  has  one 
with  a  boat  up — up — where  was  it?— in  the  North 
Sea  somewheres,  with  icebergs  and  monsters  of 
the  deep,  and  the  ship  on  fire,  and  sinking  fast 
with  all  on  board."  The  captain  waved  the  stem 
of  his  pipe  in  the  direction  of  the  blue  North.  "I 
always  liked  those  tales,  'cause  I  never  saw  any 
thing  like  it  in  my  sea-faring, — must  be  grand, 
just  for  the  experience,"  he  mused. 

"But  you  must  have  had  some  pretty  tough  ex 
periences."  Nelson  contended. 

98 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Most  of  us  have,  before  we  reach  fifty,  but 
mine  warn't  uncommon — just  a  little  hustling 
around,  lively,  for  a  while,  but  more  often  just 
easy  sailing."  .... 

Apparently  the  fisherman's  mind  reverted  to  the 
stories  of  the  "almighty  deep,"  for  between  the 
puffs  of  his  pipe  he  drawled,  "Wonder — if  the 
fellow — was  ever  there?" 

"The  fellow — ?"  queried  Nelson. 

"Um — the  fellow  that  wrote  all  that  windy  stuff 
about  the  terrible  storms,  and  the  poor  sailors  out 
in  the  blinding  mist  'nd  snow,  with  their  bare  feet 
bleeding  on  the  icy  decks, — he  must  have  had  a 
grand  experience." 

"Oh — "  said  Nelson,  loftily,  "an  author  does 
not  have  to  experience  everything  that  he  writes." 

"No—" 

* 

"Oh — no,"  explained  Nelson.  "Why  some  of 
the  best  books  have  been  written  about  places  that 
the  authors  have  never  seen." 

"How  did  they  do  it?"  the  captain  demanded. 
"It  isn't  in  reason  that  a  man  can  tell  folks  about 
a  thing  he's  never  seen."  He  settled  back  in  his 

99 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

old  splint  rocker  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
his  own  opinions,  let  others  think  as  they  chose. 

"Well — "  said  Nelson,  thoughtfully,  "they  use 
their  imagination — : 

"Just  so,"  interrupted  the  captain,  "and  a 
man's  imagination  will  often  carry  him  a  long  way 
from  the  truth." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  other, 
doubtfully.  He  abandoned  the  vantage  point 
from  which  he  could  view  the  cottage,  and 
stretched  himself  at  full  length  on  his  back  in  the 
hammock.  The  soft  air  fanned  his  face  as  he 
swayed  slowly  back  and  forth,  and  the  captain's 
voice  reached  him  at  certain  periods,  in  the  inter 
vals  of  which  his  mind  was  wondering — in  a  world 
of  imagination. 

"What  a  man  imagines  to-day  often  becomes  the 
truth  to-morrow,"  he  asserted. 

"Like  as  not,"  assented  the  captain.  "It's  the 
unexpected  thing  that  always  happens,  so  they 
say,  but  my  experience  is  that,  if  you  keep  think 
ing  and  thinking  about  something,  it's  most  sure 
to  happen." 

100 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"You  mean  if  you  keep  wishing  and  wishing  for 
something,"  suggested  Nelson. 

"That's  the  idea,"  the  captain  affirmed. 

"Oh,  that's  not  imagination ;  that's  suggestion. 
You  simply  wish  for  a  thing  so  much  that  your 
mind  begins  to  work  out  every  conceivable  idea 
that  will  lead  to  its  attainment." 

"Maybe  so,"  nodded  the  captain 

He  smoked  steadily  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
he  asked:  "Been  much  on  the  water?" 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  often,"  replied  Nelson. 

"All  the  way  across?" 

"Across  and  around,"  he  reflected. 

"Around — the  world?"  The  captain  removed 
his  pipe,  and  contemplated  his  companion  with  a 
look  of  mingled  deference  and  respect.  Then  he 
reached  over  to  the  hammock  and  placed  his  hand 
on  Nelson's  arm.  "Now  honest,"  he  demanded, 
"did  you  ever  see  anything  like  those  monsters  of 
the  deep,  a  throwing  the  life  boats  fifty  feet  in  the 
air,  with  the  ship  on  fire,  and  icebergs  crashing  all 
around,  and  sailors  with  bleeding  feet  a  clinging 
to  the  masts?" 

101 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  shook  his  head. 

"No — I  never  saw  anything  like  that,"  he  an 
swered.  "But,  of  course,  such  things  might  hap 
pen,"  he  added  thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps,"  the  captain  admitted,  "but  you've 
been  across  and  around,  and  so  have  I,  and  I've 
followed  the  sea  since  I  was  ten  years  old,  and 
they  never  happened  to  us." 

"That's  so,"  mused  Nelson,  as  he  watched  the 
tiny  spirals  of  smoke,  curling  upwards  from  the 
chimney  of  the  snug  white  cottage. 


102 


Ill 


IN  his  room  that  evening  Nelson  was  wrapt  in 
gay  visions  of  unreal  bliss,  with  a  deliberate 
indulgence,  that  set  at  naught  all  of  dear  old 
Cowper's  warning.     He  painted  the  illusive  form, 
the  kindling  grace,  the  modest  seeming  eye,  be 
neath  whose  beauteous  beams,  belying  Heaven — 
but  why  should  we  linger  over  Cowper? 

"As  yet,"  he  muttered  in  gleesome  mood,  "as 
yet,  she  doesn't  dream  who  I  am."  He  chuckled 
complacently,  and  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  the 
window  he  allowed  his  eyes  to  rest  on  the  splendor 
of  the  starry  heavens — and  lighted  a  cigarette. 
Away  off  on  the  horizon,  just  above  a  wide  reach 
of  dark  restless  water,  the  turret  of  a  revolving 
light  flashed,  and  was  dark,  flashed  and  was  dark 

again 

Lighting  the  kerosene  lamp  that  stood  on  his 
table  he  picked  up  a  book — as  was  his  habit — to 
103 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

read  a  few  pages  before  retiring  for  the  night. 
It  was  not  a  mere  coincidence  that  the  slim  volume 
happened  to  be  Schopenhauer.  He  remembered 
that  he  had  selected  it,  together  with  a  few  other 
works,  to  aid  his  researches  in  the  preparation  of 
his  book. 

The  article  that  arrested  his  attention  seemed 
to  be  an  inspiration. 

It  was  headed,  "Sufferings  of  the  World,"  and 
he  read: 

"But  misfortune  has  its  uses ;  for,  as  our  bodily 
frame  would  burst  asunder  if  the  pressure  of  the 
atmosphere  was  removed,  so,  if  the  lives  of  men 
were  relieved  of  all  need,  hardship  and  adversity ; 
if  everything  in  hand  were  successful,  they  would 
be  so  swollen  with  arrogance  that,  though  they 
might  not  burst,  they  would  present  the  spectacle 
of  unbridled  folly — nay,  they  would  go  mad.  And 
I  may  say,  further,  that  a  certain  amount  of  care 
or  pain  or  trouble  is  necessary  for  every  man  at 
all  times.  A  ship  without  ballast  is  unstable  and 
will  not  go  straight. 

"Certain  it  is  that  work,  worry,  labor  and  trou- 
104 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

ble,  form  the  lot  of  almost  all  men  their  whole  life 
long.  But  if  all  wishes  were  fulfilled  as  soon  as 
they  arose,  how  would  men  occupy  their  lives? 
What  would  they  do  with  their  time?  If  the 
world  were  a  paradise  of  luxury  and  ease,  a  land 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  where  every  Jack  ob 
tained  his  Jill  at  once  and  without  any  difficulty, 
men  would  either  die  of  boredom  or  hang  them 
selves  ;  or  there  would  be  wars,  massacres,  and  mur 
ders  ;  so  that  in  the  end  mankind  would  inflict  more 
suffering  on  itself  than  it  has  now  to  accept  at  the 
hands  of  Nature." 

"Hm, —  '  Nelson  laid  aside  the  book  and  took 
up  his  pad.  He  chewed  the  end  of  his  pencil, 
knitted  his  brows  and  contemplated  the  picture  of 
"A  Storm  at  Sea"  that  hung  on  the  wall.  Then  he 
frowned,  laid  down  his  pad,  and  again  took  up  his 
book.  Turning  over  the  leaves,  as  a  man  will  do 
when  the  part  that  he  has  read  is  distasteful,  his 
eyes  chanced  on  the  following: 

"For  as  lions  are  provided  with  claws  and  teeth, 
and  elephants  and  boars  with  tusks,  bulls  with 
horns,  and  the  cuttle  fish  with  its  cloud  of  inky 
105 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

fluid,  so  Nature  has  equipped  woman,  for  her  de 
fence  and  protection,  with  the  arts  of  dissimula 
tion  ;  and  all  the  power  which  Nature  has  con 
ferred  upon  man  in  the  shape  of  physical  strength 
and  reason,  has  been  bestowed  upon  women  in  this 
form.  Hence,  dissimulation  is  innate  in  woman, 
and  almost  as  much  a  quality  of  the  stupid  as  of 
the  clever.  It  is  as  natural  for  them  to  make  use  of 
it  on  every  occasion  as  it  is  for  those  animals  to 
employ  their  means  of  defence  when  they  are  at 
tacked;  they  have  a  feeling  that  in  doing  so  they 
are  only  within  their  rights. 

"Therefore,  a  woman  who  is  perfectly  truthful 
and  not  given  to  dissimulation  is,  perhaps,  an  im 
possibility,  and  for  this  very  reason  they  are  so 
quick  at  seeing  through  dissimulation  in  others 
that  it  is  not  a  wise  thing  to  attempt  it  with 
them." 

"Balderdash, — you  old  pessimist,"  he  exclaimed 
as  he  closed  the  book.  Then,  between  visions  of 
Hilda,  the  twinkling  stars,  the  flashing  light-house, 
and  the  voices  of  the  night,  his  senses  grew  weaker. 

He  fell  asleep 

106 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

In  her  room  adjoining — with  only  a  thin  plaster 
partition  between — sat  Hilda,  her  head  bent  low, 
intently  engaged  in  writing  an  answer  to  her 
friend  Grace's  last  communication.  I  shall  not 
disclose  all  that  was  in  that  letter — even  a  heroine 
is  entitled  to  some  privacy — but  only  certain  parts 
that  seem  to  elucidate  subsequent  events. 

.  .  .  .  "and,  Oh — Grace,  what  do 
you  think?  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
forget  all  about  the  yacht — and  its 
owner,  when  I  came  back  to  the  house, 
and  there  I  saw  a  strange  man  talking 
to«  Uncle  Hagen.  He  had  his  back  to 
me,  but  I  heard  him  ask  the  man  how 
long  he  was  going  to  stay,  so  that  I 
knew  that  he  was  a  summer  boarder,  and 
I  didn't  want  any  boarders,  so  I  called 
out  to  Uncle  Hagen,  and  then  the  man 
turned  around,  and  who  do  you  think  it 
was?  You  never  can  guess,  so  you 
musn't  tell  anyone,  not  even  John,  and 
please  do  burn  this  letter  right  away, 
I  was  so  surprised  that  I  just  stood  and 
107 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

stared  at  him,  then  when  he  spoke,  his 
voice    sounded    so    funny,    just    like    a 

squeak he    said    his    name 

was  Collins,  but  I  knew  right  away  that 

he    was    Mr.    Thomas his 

mustache  was  shaved,  and  he  was  dressed 
sort  of  queer,  but  he  wore  the  same  big 
gold  seal  on  his  watch  chain,  and  a  very 
curious  ring  that  I  would  know  amongst 
a  thousand  ....  now,  remember, 
Grace,  what  we  promised  at  school  about 
telling  secrets.  If  you  tell  John 
he  says  he  is  writing  a  book, 
and  he  wants  me  to  help  him, — me — . 
I  am  really  curious  to  see  what  he  is  go 
ing  to  do  next." 

She  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  and  noticed 
that  there  was  no  light  coming  from  the  adjoin 
ing  room.  Then  she  slipped  a  shawl  over  her  head 
to  protect  herself  from  the  heavy  dew- — which  on 
the  Islands  is  almost  akin  to  rain — and  stole  softly 
down  the  narrow  stairs,  and  out  onto  the  road. 
There  was  no  light,  save  that  which  shown  dimly 
108 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

from  the  stars,  but  she  found  no  difficulty  in  mak 
ing  her  way  along  the  narrow  pathway,  leading 
from  the  cottage  to  the  highway,  and  thence  to 
the  corner  store  that  contained  the  post  office. 

It  was  very  late, — after  midnight.  She  realized 
that  fact  after  she  turned  her  steps  homeward. 
The  light  of  the  stars  seemed  to  be  unusually  dim. 
A  fog  was  coining  up  from  the  sea,  which  made 
every  well-known  object  unfamiliar.  She  glanced 
hurriedly  behind  her,  imagining  that  she  heard 
footsteps.  She  was  certain  that  she  saw  a  figure 
of  a  man  following  her.  Her  heart  beat  violently 
as  she  quickened  her  steps,  and  noted  that  the  man 
was  walking  even  faster  and  would  soon  overtake 
her.  Hilda  was  brave,  but  this  was  an  hour  and  a 
circumstance  when  a  woman  forgets  all  that  she 
ever  knew  about  bravery.  She  was  frightened  as 
he  came  closer  and  touched  her  arm.  Instinctively 
she  gathered  up  her  skirts  and  was  about  to  fly, 
when  a  rough,  strong  hand  closed  around  her 
wrist,  and  the  man  said:  "Hilda — my  but  you're 
skeery." 

She  was  fluttering  and  struggling  to  free  her- 
109 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

self  from  his  grasp,  like  a  captured  wild  bird.  She 
wanted  to  scream. 

"Let  me  go,  Herbert,"  she  gasped,  "you  fright 
ened  me  nearly  to  death."  She  spoke  crossly,  per 
versely.  "Let  me  go,  I  say — Herbert  Kenneth  if 
you  don't  let  me  go  I'll — never  speak  to  you, 
never." 

His  hold  loosened  slowly,  and  he  felt  the  soft 
warm  hand  slip  through  his  fingers.  He  was  sud 
denly  conscious  that  she  had  never  used  that  tone 
of  voice  when  speaking  to  him  before,  never. 
Then,  as  quickly,  he  recalled  trifles  light  as  air, 
little  nothings  when  considered  singly,  but  collect 
ively  becoming  apparent,  evident. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  anyway?"  he  said 
abruptly. 

Intuitively  she  read  his  thoughts,  and  under 
stood  his  question.  At  another  time  she  might 
have  given  him  an  answer  that  would  have  sufficed 
him  for  sometime  to  come,  but  at  present  she  only 
said :  "I  was  scared,  Herbert."  Then  she  per 
mitted  him  to  again  find  her  hand  in  the  darkness, 
and  to  have  it  for  a  moment  in  his  own.  "Good- 
110 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

night,  Herbert,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone — they  were 
almost  at  the  cottage — "it's  awfully  late."  She 
moved  away,  into  the  mist. 

"Good-night,"  he  muttered,  looking  after  her. 


Ill 


IV 


A  PERFECT  day  was  closing  in  a  dying  glory 
of  gorgeous   color.      The  birds  had  ceased 
their  chatter,  and  the  busy  bees  their  work. 
The  fisher  folk  on  Orr's  Island  were  sitting  on 
their  little  porches,  or  on  the  steps  of  their  cot 
tages,  enjoying  the  cool  of  the  evening. 

As  Nelson  walked  slowly  up  the  path  which  led 
from  the  main  road  to  the  cottage,  he  turned 
around  occasionally  to  see  the  wonderful  colors  of 
the  after-glow.  And  as  he  viewed  the  changing 
tints,  from  red  to  yellow,  and  from  yellow  to  pink 
and  pale  greens,  and  then  a  blending  of  them  to 
gether,  Hilda's  voice  came  to  him  from  somewhere 
amongst  the  trees. 

"A  lovely  sunset,"  she  said. 

"Magnificent,"  he  replied,  as  he  threw  away  his 
cigarette,  and  approached  her. 

"But  much  more  beautiful  from  the  hill — Sun- 
112 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

set  Hill,  we  call  it."  She  was  dressed  in  cool  white, 
with  a  light  knitted  scarf  about  her  shoulders — a 
vision  of  simplicity.  She  extended  her  arm,  and 
indicated  the  direction,  "just  up  the  road,  not 
very  far."  His  eyes  rested  on  the  round,  sun 
burned  arm,  and  remained  there. 

"I  could  never  find  it — alone,  I'm  sure,"  he  de 
clared. 

She  smiled,  lightly. 

"Perhaps  Uncle  Hagen  would  go  with  you,"  she 
suggested. 

"I  would  much  prefer  you,"  he  asserted,  boldly. 
"Now,"  he  said  to  himself,  "we'll  see  whether  my 
lady  follows  suit,  or  trumps  the  trick." 

A  mischievous  light  gleamed  in  her  eyes.  Ap 
parently  she  chose  to  follow  suit.  "Oh — if  you 
would —  '  she  said,  and  together  they  walked 
slowly  up  the  road  towards  Sunset  Hill. 

Arriving  at  the  top,  the  glory  of  the  flaming 
heavens,  now  red,  now  yellow,  now  purple,  now  a 
blending  of  all  the  colors,  softening,  fading  slowly, 
almost  imperceptibly,  held  them  in  rapt  silence 
and  admiration.  At  their  feet  was  the  shimmering 
113 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

waves  reflecting  the  wondrous  glow  of  the  skies. 
Beyond  was  the  long,  low,  dark  line  of  an  island. 
Beyond  the  island,  faintly  traced  against  the  crim 
son  horizon,  were  the  outlines  of  a  range  of  mount 
ains,  on  the  other  side  of  which,  he  said  to  him 
self,  must  lay  the  happy  valley — "wide  and  fruit 
ful  .  .  .  filled  with  verdure  and  fertility, 
where  the  banks  of  the  brooks  were  diversified  with 
flowers ;  where  every  blast  shook  spices  from  the 
rocks,  and  every  month  dropped  fruits  upon  the 
ground  .  .  .  where  the  blessings  of  nature 
were  collected,  and  its  evils  extracted  and  ex 
cluded." 

When  he  read  books  that  pleased  him,  his  mind 
retained  whole  paragraphs  of  the  parts  which  more 
particularly  suited  his  mood,  and  when  that  mood 
returned  to  him,  so  did  the  thoughts  that  went 
with  it. 

Half  unconsciously  he  was  quoting  aloud  from 
Rasselas. 

Hilda  stood  smiling  as  Nelson  went  on  with  his 
rhapsody. 

Then  she  shook  her  head  meditatively. 
114 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"There  is  no  such  place,"  she  sighed. 

"But  such  as  it  is,"  he  argued,  "one  must  be 
happy  with  such  surroundings  as  these." 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"Locality  hasn't  much  to  do  with  happiness," 
she  remarked ;  "it's  in  the  mind." 

He  regarded  her  with  some  amazement— this 
island  maid.  His  face  assumed  a  quizzical  expres 
sion.  "You  are  quoting  from  Horace — 'you  trav 
erse  the  world  in  search  of  happiness,  which  is 
within  the  reach  of  every  man;  a  contented  mind 
confers  it  on  all.' '  He  was  glad  to  show  his 
familiarity  with  the  quotation. 

"I  have  never  read  Horace,"  she  replied,  sim 
ply,  "but  I  often  think  that  many  people  could  be 
much  happier  if  they  would  only  try."  .... 

They  were  sitting  on  an  old  log,  close  together. 
"I  want  to  be  happier,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  into 
the  depths  of  her  blue  eyes.  "How  shall  I  try?" 

She  returned  his  gaze  fearlessly. 

"Well,  things  might  look  better  to  you  if  you 
would  not  look  at  them  through  those  ugly  spec 
tacles,"  she  asserted  boldly.  There  was  an  ex- 
115 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

pression  of  amusement  in  her  eyes.     A  suppressed 
inclination  to  laugh. 

"Oh — if  that's  all,"  he  answered,  and  removed 
them.  "What  else?" 

"W-e-1-1,  try  to  be  natural,  to  be  yourself." 
She  regarded  him  with  an  admixture  of  mirth  and 
curiosity — the  curiosity  of  a  woman  to  sec  how  far 
a  man  will  go  in  his  overweening  foolishness. 
While  he,  good  simple  man — "That's  easy,"  he  ad 
mitted.  "I  find  it  more  difficult  to  try  to  be  some 
other  person."  He  chuckled  inwardly. 

"Don't  try,"  she  said,  tersely. 

Meanwhile  the  gray  of  the  evening  was  envelop 
ing,  and  mingling  with  the  red  of  the  after-glow, 
softening  and  subduing  the  brilliant  colors  of  the 
sunset.  Hilda  sat  with  one  elbow  on  her  knee,  her 
chin  resting  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand,  gazing  at 
the  far  distant  mountains,  now  fading  into  the 
twilight. 

" — The  most  beautiful  eyes,  the  dearest  little 
dimple,  the  whitest  teeth,  the  fairest  skin,  and  the 
most  musical  voice,"  said  Nelson,  silently,  as  he 
watched  her. 

116 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  as  if  the  thought  had 
just  entered  her  mind,  "do  you  know  a  gentleman 
by  the  name  of  Thomas?" 

Nelson  opened  his  mouth,  emitted  a  dry  cough 
ing  sound,  gasped,  and  looked  intently  out  to  sea. 

"Thomas — Thomas."  He  shook  his  head,  hes 
itated,  and  put  on  his  spectacles.  "It's  not  an 
uncommon  name,"  he  remarked,  thoughtfully. 
"What— what— Thomas  ?" 

Her  lips  curved  in  a  tantalizing  smile.  Her  eyes 
were  watching  mirthfully,  curiously. 

"Nelson  Thomas —  "  she  said. 

"Nelson  Thomas,"  he  repeated,  very  slowly. 
He  was  engaged  in  the  preliminary  known  in  the 
vernacular  as  "sparring  for  time."  His  method 
was  not  altogether  bad,  but  it  lacked  originality. 

"He's  from  New  York,"  she  said,  "and  he  owns 
a  yacht  called  the  Phyllis" 

"Oh,  the  Phyllis"  said  Nelson.  "I  have  seen  the 
yacht — often,  in  fact.  Have  you  ever  seen  it?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I've  been  aboard  of  her, — twice. 
She's  the  dearest  boat — 

"Say  that  again,"  he  interrupted. 
117 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Say  what?" 

"That  last  word." 

"Oh — ,  you  mean  bo-it."  She  repeated  the  word 
with  the  lingering  cadence  that  made  him  foolish. 
He  moved  closer  to  her ;  and  as  his  eyes  met  hers  he 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  put  his  arm 
around  her,  to  confess  there  and  then  to — 

Then  the  madness  passed,  and  he  became  sane. 

"I  know  Nelson  Thomas,"  he  assented. 

"Oh — you  know  Mr.  Thomas?"  said  Hilda,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Like  a  brother,"  said  Nelson,  soberly.  "I  have 
known  him  for  many  years." 

"Really — ,  Oh,  I'm  so  anxious  to  know  more 
about  him.  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he?" 

"Peculiar — ,"  said  Nelson,  shaking  his  head 
knowingly. 

"Peculiar — ?"  she  repeated. 

"Gets  an  idea  into  his  head,  and  then  he  for 
gets  everything  else." 

"Forgets — ?"  she  asked. 

"Well — ignores  everything  and  everybody  else 
until  he  gets  what  he  wants." 
118 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Her  eye  lids  veiled  the  depths  of  her  gaze  for  an 
instant. 

"Poor  man,"  she  commented,  in  pity. 

"Why  poor  man?"  he  inquired. 

"Oh — he's  so  sure  to  meet  with  disappoint 
ment,"  she  replied. 

Again  her  chin  dropped  into  the  palm  of  her 
hand,  and  her  eyes  smiled  pensively  at  the  fading 
sunset. 

"Perhaps — ,"  he  mused,  doubting. 

Above  them  the  stars  were  appearing  dimly  in 
the  cloudless  sky.  The  air  was  warm,  and  filled 
with  the  freshness  of  a  light  breeze,  that  blew 
faintly  from  the  pines.  At  their  feet  was  the  bay, 
over  which  was  slowly  creeping  a  light  grey  mist 
— a  thin,  transparent  mist,  through  which  could 
be  seen  the  shimmer  of  the  water. 

"Tell  me  some  more  about  Mr.  Thomas,"  she 
urged.  "Is  he  married?" 

She  said  it  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  She 
would  have  given  much  to  recall  it.  What  would 
he  think  of  her  hereafter,  if— 

He  bent  over  her,  and  tried  to  look  into  her 
119 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

downcast  eyes.    He  was  probably  wondering  if,  by 
any  chance,  she  had  penetrated  his  disguise. 

"No — he  is  not  married,"  he  replied,  slowly. 

Hilda  smiled  mockingly. 

"I  suppose  the  idea  never  came  into  his  head." 

"Why—?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"Oh — because  you  said  that  when  he  got  an  idea 
in  his  head  he  ignored  everything — until — until  he 
got  what  he  wanted." 

Nelson  glanced  quickly  at  the  demure  eyes  of 
the  maiden — wide-open,  inscrutable,  blue  eyes. 
They  returned  his  glance,  frankly. 

"She  knows — nothing,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"And  you  said — ,"  Nelson  reflected,  "that  he  was 
sure  to  be  disappointed.  With  such  an  ending,  he 
probably  thought  it  useless  to  entertain  such  an 
idea." 

"Absurd — ,"  she  laughed.  "How  could  he  pos 
sibly  know  what  I  said?" 

"The  fact  is — ,"  Nelson  pondered,  "he  has  had 
the  idea  thrown  at  his  head,  unceasingly,  for  some 
time.     He  has  had  what  you  might  call  a  chance 
to  marry,  but  he  has  neglected  it." 
120 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"So — ,"  she  mused,  "the  poor  man  has  been  so 
annoyed  by  the  attentions  of — of  women,  that  he 
really  can't  consider  the  matter — as  worthy  of 
pursuit."  She  laughed. 

"That  might  apply  to  the  attentions  of  some 
women,"  he  corrected,  gently  smiling,  "but  he  has 
confessed  to  me  that  there  is  one  woman  whose  in 
difference  is  causing  him  the  greatest  sorrow  of  his 
life." 

"One  woman,"  she  repeated.  "Dear  me — I  won 
der  what  kind  of  a  paragon  she  must  be?'* 

She  spoke  indifferently — as  a  woman  will  of 
another.  But  none  the  less  I  am  certain  that  she 
was  consumed  with  curiosity,  for  she  added,  "What 
kind  of  a  woman  is  she?  Have  you  ever  seen  her?" 

"I  have  seen  her,"  he  said,  nodding  thought 
fully.  "She  is  very  beautiful — the  loveliest  woman 
on  this  isl — earth.  She  has  masses  of  fluffy  hair 
that  glints  and  sparkles  in  the  sun  like  the  gold 
stone.  Her  eyes  are  dark — very  dark  blue.  Her 
teeth  are  white — pearly  white;  and  when  she 
smiles  her  lips  curve  over  them  in  the  most  be 
witching — the  most  tantalizing  way.  She  has  a 
121 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

perfect  complexion  of  such  texture  that  it  shows 
a  varied  shade  of  pink  to  rosy  red  with  her  every 
thought.  I  am  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  is 
Thomas.  I  see  her  bewitching  personality  per 
meating  this  whole  island  by  day,  and  at  night  I 
dream  of  her  until  morning." 

"Goodness — !"  exclaimed  Hilda.  "She  must  be 
a  wonder." 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes,  innocently.  Was  it 
possible  that  she  did  not  even  guess? 

"Miss  Gunther — Hilda — ,"  he  began,  "surely 
you  know — '  He  was  bending  over  her.  He 
reached  out  his  arms  to  embrace  her. 

"Oh—!  Mr.  Collins— don't— please— " 

She  fluttered  for  an  instant — struggling  to  free 
herself — and  was  gone. 


122 


THE  next  day  Hilda  was  not  visible.     Nor  the 
next  day.     Nor  the  day  after  that ;  and  so 
Nelson  had  ample  time  to  think  the  matter 
over.     And  the  more  that  he  argued  the  subject, 
the  more  convinced  he  became  in  his  mind,  that  he 
had  not  succeeded  very  well  in  the  little  plan  that 
had  seemed  to  be  so  plausible. 

He  had  added  to  his  somewhat  extensive  experi 
ence  with  women,  but  somehow  he  was  conscious 
that  the  way  of  this  island  maid  was  distinctly  dif 
ferent  from  the  others  whom  he  had  met.  I  am 
not  sure  that  he  had  not  hastened  the  denouement 
in  the  firm  conviction  that  nothing  more  was  neces 
sary  to  win  her. 

The  first  day  he  had  passed  in  a  feverish  an 
ticipation  of  meeting  her  at  any  moment,  and  he 
had  prepared  a  series  of  pleasing  arguments  that 
would  explain  his  motives,  and  all  would  be  well. 
123 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  second  day  he  spent  in  revising  his  anticipated 
discourse,  touching  it  up,  here  and  there,  with 
numerous  fair-spoken  sentences  that  seemed  to  be 
well-nigh  irresistible.  The  third  day  he  forgot  all 
about  his  imaginary  conversation,  and  he  fell  into 
a  fit  of  despondency,  the  like  of  which  he  had  never 
before  felt. 

Then  he  tried  his  philosophy. 

He  walked  from  one  end  of  tne  island  to  the 
other.  He  penetrated  the  inmost  recesses  of  the 
pines,  and  finding  a  secluded  spot,  he  would  lie 
down  on  the  soft  thick  moss  from  where  he  could 
see  the  blue  sky,  the  bluer  sea,  and  the  islands  ex 
quisitely  sketched  on  its  surface.  There  was  the 
illimitable  ocean  peacefully  undulating  in  the  light 
haze  of  a  mid-summer  day.  There  was  a  little 
sail  boat  at  his  command.  He  had  only  to  cast 
off  the  line  that  held  it  bobbing  up  and  down  at 
the  old  wharf — and  he  could  drift  or  sail  from 
one  bay  to  another,  from  one  island  to  another, 
heedlessly,  aimlessly — the  only  way  to  sail.  And 
he  had  the  village,  with  its  corner  cross-roads,  and 
funny  little  stores,  where  he  could  buy  things  for 
124 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

a  few  pennies : — a  lead  pencil  for  one  cent ;  a  writ 
ing  pad  for  the  same  amount ;  a  shaving  mirror,  in 
a  twisted  metal  frame,  for  five  cents.  He  smiled 
to  himself  as  he  made  the  purchases.  Then  he 
went  down  to  the  rickety  wharf,  and  sitting  down, 
with  his  pad  and  pencil,  he  swung  his  legs  over  a 
string  piece  and  began  to  write. 

But  for  all  that  he  wrote,  this  student  of  the 
masses  might  as  well  have  been  fishing  with  the 
two  boys,  who  were  busy  with  lines  over  the  stern 
of  a  boat,  just  beneath  him.  The  grassy  walks, 
and  secluded  pines ;  the  blue  sea  and  the  islands ; 
the  gently  heaving  ocean;  the  village  life;  the  lit 
tle  sail  boat.  They  were  nothing  more  than  a 
frame,  from  which  had  been  taken  the  picture — 
of  Hilda. 

"Hang  'The  Masses' — !"  he  exclaimed.  Then 
he  looked  down  at  the  boys.  "Say,  bub — "  he 
called.  And  the  quickest  one  looked  up  first — 
and  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Want  a  quarter — ?"  He  held  it  over  the  boys' 
heads  for  a  moment,  and  then  let  it  fall.  It  missed 
the  four  little  out  stretched  hands,  hit  the  side  of 
125 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  boat,  and  glancing  off,  dropped  into  the 
water.  There  was  a  scramble,  a  dropping  of  fish 
lines,  a  scuffle  in  which  all  the  rules  of  floatage 
were  set  at  naught,  and  then  two  little  boys,  in 
scant  clothing,  were  wriggling  around  under  the 
water — like  a  pair  of  tadpoles. 

"Je — ru — salem — !"  said  Nelson,  as  he  regarded 
the  result  of  his  generous  offer. 

Then  he  looked  for  the  boys,  anxiously.  One 
had  come  up  spluttering  to  the  surface,  and  was 
swimming  to  sea — !  The  other  was  probably 
under  the  boat  that  was  floating  bottom  up. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose. 

He  slipped  off  his  coat,  hat,  and  low  shoes,  and 
dived  after  him. 

It  was  hard  work  to  pull  the  lad  from  under  the 
boat,  to  take  him  in  one  arm,  and  then  swim  out  in 
the  bay  after  the  other  boy. 

The  latter  was  a  lusty  swimmer,  but  he  had  lost 
his  head,  and  was  swimming  in  the  wrong  direction. 

"Here — sonny — here — !"  Nelson  called,  encour 
agingly,  as  he  saw  the  little  tow  head  in  front  of 
him.  Then  he  renewed  his  efforts  to  overtake  him. 
126 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

It   was   a   short   race,   between   an   experienced 
athlete  and  a  scared  boy — and  the  athlete  won. 
The  piling  was  covered  with  a  green 
ish  slime,  so  that  he  could  not  draw  himself  up. 

He  told  the  boys  to  hold  fast  to  him,  as  he  be 
gan  to  swim  towards  the  shore,  but  they  were 
dazed  and  badly  frightened,  and  he  was  afraid  that 
they  would  slip  from  his  back,  so  he  turned  over 
and  sat  the  youngsters  astride  of  his  chest,  where 
he  could  see  them. 

"Now, — hang  on,  you  little  duffers,"  he 
laughed,  soothingly. 

And  so,  by  laughing,  and  thereby  encouraging 
the  boys,  they  took  heart,  and  hung  to  the  big 
man,  who,  with  his  hands  beneath  him,  was  slowly 
paddling  towards  land. 

As  the  tide  carried  them  again  towards  the 
wharf  a  man  came  running  with  a  boat  hook  in 
one  hand  and  a  bight  of  rope  in  the  other.  He 
leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  wharf,  and  hooked  one 
of  the  lads  off  Nelson's  chest;  then  he  hooked  the 
other.  Then  he  dropped  an  end  of  the  rope  to 
Nelson,  and  quickly  hauled  him  onto  the  wharf. 
127 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Well  done,  mate,"- — he  said,  approvingly — 
"but  for  you,  these  little  fellers  would  have 
drowned."  He  held  the  boys,  by  the  nape  of  their 
necks,  one  at  the  end  of  each  arm,  where  they 
hung  dripping  and  shaking  like  two  puppies. 
Then  the  man  took  a  second  admiring  glance  at 
the  life-saver  as  he  turned  around, — shoeless,  hat- 
less,  coatless — coughing  up  the  salt  water. 

"But  for  me  they  wouldn't  have  up — upset — 
Nelson    drawled,    good-naturedly.      Then    he    re 
turned  the  astonished  gaze  of  his  host — Captain 
Gunther. 

The  boys  shook  themselves,  adjusted  their 
scanty  blue  shirts  and  jumpers — and  looked 
around  expectantly.  Nelson  laughed. 

"You  want  the  money — ?"  he  suggested. 

"I  spoke  first —  '  said  the  alert  one,  quickly. 
He  was  a  bright,  sharp  featured  lad,  with  snap 
ping  blue  eyes,  and  an  oldish  kind  of  a  face.  The 
other  had  wide,  wondering  brown  eyes,  a  waver 
ing  mouth,  and  curling  hair.  He  hung  back,  ap 
parently  willing  to  take  what  was  left. 

"I  spoke — second —  "  he  said,  hesitatingly. 
128 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Have  you  ever  noticed —  '  said  Nelson,  with 
the  same  nonchalance  to  his  condition  and  sur 
roundings,  as  though  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the 
Phyllis, — "how  often  there  is  one — in  a  family — 
who  always  speaks  first;  is  ever  brisk,  lively,  nim 
ble  to  catch  the  falling  fruit?" 

"So  there  is —  '  answered  the  captain,  as  he 
finished  coiling  the  rope. 

"I  have  often  wondered,"  Nelson  went  on,  de 
liberately,  "when  they  advanced  in  life,  whether 
they  really  obtained  more  happiness  than  the 
others.  I  never  could  step  lively,  captain — 
never." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  boys. 

"So  you  did,  sonny,"  he  said,  judicially — as  he 
noted  the  wistful  eyes  of  the  other.  "Run  along, 
and  get  my  clothes  on  the  end  of  the  wharf — my 
purse  is  in  my  coat  pocket." 

Then  he  slipped  a  hand  into  the  clammy  re 
cesses  of  his  wet,  clinging  trousers,  and  fished  out 
a  coin — the  largest  in  the  collection. 

"Here,  bub — take  this  and  skip — run — va 
mose,"  he  admonished  the  wistful-eyed  one,  as  he 
129 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

pointed  up  the  hill.  The  boy  started,  and  turned 
back — twisting  the  coin  round  and  round  in  his 
hand. 

"Please,  mister — "  he  asked,  "is  this  mine — to 
keep?" 

"Sure — "  Nelson  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Thanks,  mister —  The  boy  put  the  coin  in 
his  pocket.  Then  he  might  have  walked  straight 
home,  handed  the  money  to  his  mother,  and  said : — 
"Here,  mother,  is  fifty  cents  that  a  kind-hearted 
gentleman  gave  me  for  saving  my  life.  Give  it  to 
the  good,  kind  minister,  to  send  to  the  poor  little 
boys  in  Africa." 

He  might  have  done  that, — but  he  did  not.  He 
went  to  a  store — the  farthest  away  from  his  home 
— and  bought  the  jack-knife  that  his  soul  had 
craved,  ever  since  he  had  been  able  to  see  it,  in  the 
showcase  on  top  of  the  counter.  Then  he  bought 
a  bag  of  peanuts,  a  sour  ball — warranted  to  last 
for  half  an  hour,  and  a  mouth  organ.  He  spent 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon  on  the  sunny  side  of  a 
rock — drying  his  clothes — filled  with  supreme 

happiness 

130 


VI 


THEY  walked  back  to  the  cottage  where  Nelson 
procured  dry  clothing. 

When  he  reappeared  downstairs,  the  cap 
tain  took  an  observation,  which  included  the  cardi 
nal  points  of  the  compass.  Then  he  lowered  his 
voice  to  barely  a  whisper.  "A  little  drop  of — the 
real  thing  would  keep  you  from  catching  cold 
after  that  ducking?"  he  suggested. 

"Sure —  "  Nelson  agreed  promptly,  "but  where 
on  this  benighted  coast  of  Maine  is  one  to  pro 
cure  it?" 

Captain  Gunther  grew  even  more  mysterious. 
"Follow  me —  "  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a  pirate 
king.  He  tiptoed  into  the  cottage,  with  Nelson 
following  close  on  his  heels.  "Lucky  thing — "  he 
whispered,  "Hilda  ain't  here." 

"She    would    object?"    inquired    Nelson.      His 
heart  thumped  furiously  at  her  name.     His  eyes 
131 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

• 
roved  over  the  little  kitchen,  with  its  strip  of  clean 

rag  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  the  spotless  dimity 
curtains  in  the  windows.  He  felt  a  sense  of  irrita 
tion  as  the  old  man  opened  the  cupboard  doors 
and  exposed  to  view  the  rows  of  common  blue 
china — shining  in  their  cleanliness — carefully  ar 
ranged  on  scolloped,  clean  white  paper.  The  shin 
ing  black  cooking  stove,  with  the  neatly  arranged 
utensils ;  the  little  table,  with  its  bright  red  cover ; 
the  low  splint  rocking  chair,  beside  an  open  win 
dow — above  the  sill  of  which  a  cluster  of  sweet 
peas  nodded  and  swayed  gently  in  the  light  sum 
mer  air — Hilda's. 

"Oh — I  don't  know  as  she  would  just  object," 
said  the  captain  as  he  reached  to  an  upper  self  for 
two  little  tumblers.  He  handed  one  to  Nelson,  and 
then  selected  a  small  pitcher  from  the  little  stock  of 
blue  china. 

"You  see  it's  this  way  with  her —  "  he  explained. 
"Etzel — that's  her  father  you  know,  never  could 
touch  it  without  getting  foolish — and  just 
natur'ly  she's  afraid  of  it." 

"Afraid  of  what?"  asked  Nelson. 
132 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Whiskey,"  replied  the  captain,  with  abated 
breath,  as  he  took  out  his  keys  and  unlocked  a 
closet  in  the  chimney. 

He  fumbled  around  and  drew  forth  a  curious 
looking,  narrow-necked  bottle.  It  was  covered 
with  odd  looking  characters — grinning  faces  of 
uncouth  monsters.  A  queer  looking  bottle.  It  was 
brown-colored,  flat,  and  emitted  an  odor  when 
the  cork  was  removed  the  like  of  which  Nelson  had 
never  smellcd  before. 

"Came  from  New  York,"  said  the  captain  as  he 
slowly  filled  the  two  little  tumblers,  replaced  the 
cork,  and  then  hid  the  bottle  carefully  away  in  the 
locker. 

"Now  for  a  chaser,"  he  said  jocosely,  as  he 
started  towards  the  well.  I  am  not  certain  whether 
he  winked  at  Nelson,  but  his  manner  was  that  of 
an  old  toper,  a  convivial  old  fellow  who  loved  his 
daily  dram  above  everything  on  earth.  Whereas 
Uncle  Hagen  was  the  most  temperate  man — a  man 
who  had  the  best  reputation  on  the  island  for 
sobriety. 

He  lowered  the  sweep,  and  drew  up  a  bucket  of 
.  133 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

fresh  water.  Then  he  filled  the  pitcher,  and  started 
back  again  to  the  cottage.  Nelson  followed  the  old 
man  who  walked  stealthily  ahead,  alert  and  cau 
tious  as  an  Indian. 

"Now  we  can  talk —  '  he  said  as  he  put  the 
pitcher  down  on  the  kitchen  table,  and  drew  up  a 
chair,  "there  ain't  nobody  around." 

"Your  health —  "  Nelson  sipped  prudently  from 
his  small  tumbler. 

"Same  to  you —  '  Uncle  Hagen  swallowed  the 
contents  of  his  tumbler  at  a  gulp,  and  reached  for 
the  pitcher.  The  "chaser"  of  cold  water  followed 
the  whiskey  with  a  velocity  and  volume  which  must 
have  quenched  the  fiery  stuff  instanter. 

"Feels  good — don't  it?"  said  the  captain  ap 
provingly,  and  then  opening  and  closing  his  mouth 
with  a  loud  resounding  smack. 

"Feels  warm —  "  said  Nelson  doubtfully. 

"Pity  some  folks  can't  take  it  without  going  too 
far — now  there  was  Etzel,  Hilda's  father."  The 
old  man  stretched  out  his  legs  and  dropping  his 
chin  to  his  chest,  he  reached  an  arm  across  the 
table,  and  balanced  the  empty  tumbler  in  the  palm 
134 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

of  his  large,  powerful  hand.  "Etzel  never  could 
touch  a  drop — without  going  crazy." 

He  gazed  out  of  the  open  window,  his  blue  eyes 
fixed  in  a  dreamy  stare  from  under  his  shaggy 
brows.  "Etzel  was  younger  than  me — about  ten 
years." 

"He  was  a  sailor?"  asked  Nelson. 

"Best  in  the  town  of  Harpswell — wasn't  a  man 
could  touch  him — wasn't  anything  could  beat  him 
— 'cepting  this." 

He  held  the  tumbler  upside  down.  A  few  drops 
of  whiskey  fell  on  the  red  tablecloth,  making  dark 
splotches  on  its  surface.  He  heaved  a  deep  sigh, 
and  was  silent. 

"I  heard  that  he  died — was  drowned,"  said 
Nelson  softly. 

Uncle  Hagen  drew  in  his  legs,  bent  over  and 
looked  into  Nelson's  eyes. 

"He  drowned  himself — and  his  wife." 

"Committed  sui —  "  Nelson  turned  quickly. 

The  captain's  hand  went  up  warningly. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "No  suiciding 
in  our  family — they're  too  fond  of  living.  He  just 
135 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

run  his  boat  up  on  the  rocks,  over  on  the  back 
shore,  and —  He  paused,  and  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead  in  a  weary  sort  of  way.  Nelson 
saw  lines  in  his  face  that  had  hitherto  escaped  him. 

"Missed  the  channel?"  suggested  Nelson.  The 
captain  nodded.  "Out  of  his  course  a  hundred 
yards— a  course  he  could  of  run  with  his  eyes  shut, 
day  or  night.  Most  any  boy  in  the  village  could. 
But  Etzel — well  Etzel  wasn't  himself  that  day." 

He  buried  his  head  deep  in  the  hollow  of  his  two 
large  hands.  Then  an  idea  seemed  to  strike  him, 
for  he  suddenly  arose,  and  walked  to  the  chimney 
closet, — when  he  returned,  carrying  the  curious 
looking  bottle  with  him.  In  a  moment  he  had 
emptied  its  contents  through  the  open  window. 

"By  the  jumping  hornspoon—  "  he  vowed  with 
much  solemnity,  as  he  held  the  bottle  upside  down, 
high  over  his  head,  "if  I  ever  touch  a  drop  of  the 
rotten  stuff  again — may  I  be  drowned  too." 

Then  he  carefully  corked  the  empty  bottle  and 
put  it  on  one  of  the  shelves  in  the  cupboard.  There 
is  not  much  that  goes  to  waste  on  Orr's  Island. 


136 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

And  all  the  time  Nelson  was  asking  himself  the 
tormenting  question — what  has  become  of  Hilda? 
He  could  easily  have  asked  Uncle  Hagen,  but  some 
how  the  opportunity  that  he  wanted  never  came. 
A  guilty  consciousness  that  perhaps  the  old  man 
was  familiar  with  the  occurrence  at  Sunset  Hill, 
and  that  Hilda  may  have  confided  in  him — or  inti 
mated, — or — something.  He  could  not  bring  him 
self  to  the  point  of  a  direct  inquiry.  So  he  was 
startled  when  the  captain  began — "Hilda  never 
knew  the  whole  truth- — about  her  father.  Soon  as 
she  was  old  enough  I  sent  her  away  to  a  big  board 
ing  school — Hilda  has  a  fine  education,"  he  added 
proudly. 

A  little  wooden-cased  clock,  on  a  shelf  between 
the  windows,  went  tick-tack-tick-tack.  There  was 
no  other  sound. 

Uncle  Hagen  slowly  filled  his  pipe  from  a  little 
tin  box  of  cut  plug.  Then  he  broke  off  a  sulphur 
match  from  a  block,  and  lit  it  with  a  sweep  across 
the  leg  of  his  trousers.  "That's  where  she  met 
Grace —  "  he  mumbled, —  between  puffs.  "In  Port 
land." 

137 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Grace?"     Nelson  looked  interested. 

"Um — Grace  Donald.    Where  she's  visiting." 

"Visiting?"     Nelson's  interest  increased. 

"Um — she  married  John  Donald — works  in  the 
bank,"  he  said  it  half  impatiently — as  if  he  con 
sidered  the  matter  of  too  little  importance  to  need 
any  further  explanation. 


138 


VII 


NELSON  arose  early — very  early,  and  gazed  out 
into  the  orchard. 

The  sun  was  just  appearing  in  a  prelimi 
nary  blaze  of  golden  yellow,  the  air  was  delightful, 
and  keen  with  the  salt  smell  of  the  sea.  The  trees 
were  filled  with  chirping  birds,  happy,  lively — in 
tensely  alive  with  the  joy  of  the  morning. 

But  what  a  difference — what  a  difference — ! 
Hilda  gone — without  a  word,  without  a  message. 

He  heard  the  captain  moving  around  below,  get 
ting  his  breakfast. 

"She  ought  to  be  at  home,  taking  care  of  that 
poor  old  man,"  he  muttered.  "The  least  she  could 
do,  to  pay  him  back  for  all  his  care  of  her.  Un 
grateful,  that's  what  it  is." 

The   penetrating  smell  of  burning  pine  wood, 
mingled  with  the  aroma  of  boiling  coffee,  floated 
upward  from  the  kitchen. 
139 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Visiting  her  friend  in  Portland.  What  do  you 
think  of  that?"  He  spoke  with  a  rising  inflection, 
bitterly.  He  glanced  around  the  room,  at  the 
scanty  furniture,  the  grotesque  pattern  of  cheap 
wallpaper,  at  the  lurid  picture  of  "A  Storm  at 
Sea,"  at  the  pile  of  manuscript  on  his  writing  table. 
He  picked  up  the  sheets,  one  after  the  other,  and 
read  them  carelessly. 

"  'The  Masses'  be—" 

There  was  a  loud  thump  on  his  door,  then 
another.  It  sounded  as  though  the  door  had  been 
struck  by  a  club.  Nelson  strode  across  the  room 
and  opened  it  wide.  He  was  angry,  irritable. 

Captain  Gunther,  rosy-cheeked,  genial,  beaming 
with  good  nature,  stood  in  the  narrow  hall. 

"Heard  you  moving,"  he  smiled,  "and  thought 
you  might  like  a  bite  of  breakfast?"  He  noticed 
Nelson's  angry  frown,  and  his  manner  became 
apologetic. 

"Perhaps  I'm  too  early  for  you  ?"  he  added. 

Nelson's  brow  cleared  at  the  sight  of  the  kindly 
blue  eyes.      "Not  a  bit— not  a  bit,"  he  answered 
cordially.     "I'll  be  down  in  five  minutes." 
140 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

In  less  than  that  time  he  had  torn  the  manuscript 
into  small  pieces,  and  had  thrown  them  into  the 
vari-colored  paper  basket.  "Somehow  I  seem  to 
be  all  wrong  about  the  masses,"  he  mused,  thought 
fully. 

Then  he  went  down  to  breakfast. 

Uncle  Hagen  with  his  coat  off,  his  face  fiery 
red,  was  fussing  over  the  stove. 

"I  have  the  coffee  all  right,"  he  nodded  as 
Nelson  entered  the  kitchen.  "And  the  corn  bread 
is  in  the  oven,  but  I'm  just  a  little  particular  about 
the  fish — fresh  mackerel.  Ain't  been  out  the  water 
half  an  hour — kind  of  tender."  He  held  the  pan 
up  over  the  glowing  coals,  with  one  hand  and 
moved  a  little  can  of  boiling  water  with  the  other. 
"If  you'll  hand  me  those  eggs,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  a  bowl  on  the  table.  Nelson  dipped,  obediently, 
into  the  bowl  and  handed  the  captain  two  eggs. 
There  was  something  very  cosy — very  appetizing 
about  the  clean  coarse  cloth  on  the  table,  the  nod 
ding  sweet  peas  at  the  window,  the  warmth  and 
cheerfulness  of  the  little  kitchen. 

"Just  a  mite  of  bacon,"  murmured  the  captain 
141 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

as  he  put  two  thin  slices  in  the  pan.  "Now  then 
its  ready — such  as  it  is."  He  placed  a  chair  for 
Nelson  at  one  side  of  the  table. 

"Simply  delicious,"  said  Nelson,  approvingly,  as 
he  sat  down  to  breakfast 

"I'll  be  leaving  to-day,"  he  informed  the  cap 
tain,  shamefacedly. 

"So — "  Uncle  Hagen  held  his  fork  poised  over 
a  tempting  piece  of  the  fresh  mackerel.  "Things 
don't  suit?" 

There  was  surprise,  and  a  shade  of  vexation  in 
his  voice. 

"Everything  suits,  captain — everything,"  he 
assured  him,  "but  I  must  get  back  to  work." 
Nelson  assumed  the  harrassed  look  of  a  business 
man  whose  vacation  days  are  numbered. 

Uncle  Hagen  looked  at  him  over  his  cup  of 
coffee.  "Writing  books?"  he  suggested. 

"Yes,  and — other  things." 

"Hilda  will  be  disappointed,"  said  the  old  man, 
slowly.  "When  did  you  calculate  to  start?" 

"When  does  the  next  boat  leave?"  asked  Nelson. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Uncle  Hagen,  ignoring 
142 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  question,  "that  maybe  you'd  like  to  go  along 
in  the  boat — my  boat.  I'm  going  up  to  Portland 
this  morning  with  a  mess  of  lobsters." 

"Indeed  I  should —  "  replied  Nelson  promptly. 
A  radiant  glimmer  of  hope  overspread  his  face.  "I 
should  like  nothing  better."  Uncle  Hagen  arose 
and  began  to  clear  the  table.  "We  might  call  and 
see  Hilda — at  Grace's,  and  you  could  say  good 
bye,"  he  added  innocently. 

"Yes — I  could  say  good-bye,"  repeated  Nelson 
dubiously.  "When  are  you  going?" 

"Soon  as  I  stow  away  these  things,  and  clean  up 
the  galley, — 'bout  half  an  hour." 

Outside,  the  yellow  of  the  sunrise  had  turned  to 
crimson,  and  then  the  sun  had  appeared  above  the 
pines,  in  all  the  splendor  of  an  August  day. 

Nelson  expanded  his  lungs  with  deep  inhalations 
of  the  delicious  air.  He  whistled  in  answer  to  the 
chirping  birds.  He  hummed  snatches  of  songs,  as 
he  moved  blithely  around  his  room,  packing  his 
bag.  His  heart  was  joyous,  harmonious. 

After  all  the  weary  waiting  and  suspense;  after 
all  the  inaction,  the  anxious  surmises  and  imagin- 
143 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

ings  of  the  past  long  hours  and  days,  there  had 
come  to  him  a  certainty, — he  was  going  to  see 
Hilda.  That  was  enough  happiness  for  the  pres 
ent.  Further  than  that  he  gave  the  matter  but 
little  thought.  His  spirit  was  tranquil,  tuneful. 

The  captain  called  up  the  stairs : 

"You  can  come  whenever  you  are  ready.  Lock 
the  door  and  put  the  key  under  the  step." 

Then  he  shouldered  a  pair  of  oars,  and  started 
down  the  "shore  privilege"  path  which  led  to  the 
cove 

Nelson  locked  the  front  door,  put  the  key  under 
a  corner  of  the  stone  step,  and  followed  the  captain 
down  the  path.  At  a  bend  in  the  lane,  that  hid 
Uncle  Hagen  from  sight,  he  turned  around  to  take 
a  last  view  of  the  cottage.  It's  clean  white  front 
shone  clear  and  distinct,  embowered  in  the  sur 
rounding  vivid  greens. 

If  a  little  house  could  look  wistfully  after  him, 
that  little  house  was  full  of  thought. 

"I  know — I  know,"  he  said,  as  he  waved  his  hand 
in  farewell.  "It  was  no  fault  of  yours, — good-bye 
— good-bye." 

144 


VIII 

4  4  .A  S  near  as  I  can  remember,"  said  Uncle  Hagen 

/  \.     doubtfully,   as   he   and   Nelson   wandered 

along  one  of  the  streets  of  Portland,  "the 

house  lays  north-northwest,  about  half  an  hour's 

run  from  the  landing."   He  peered  up  one  side  of  the 

street  and  then  the  other.     "It's  kind  of  clipper 

built,  with  a  bridge  for'ard  and  a  quarter  deck  aft 

— the  cabin's  painted  white  with  green  blinds." 

"There  it  is,"  said  Nelson,  almost  as  soon  as  he 
had  heard  the  graphic  description.  He  pointed 
across  the  street  to  a  neat-looking,  modern  house, 
that  had  a  porch  in  front,  and  a  second  story 
piazza  in  the  rear.  It  was  of  frame  construction, 
painted  white,  with  green  shutters. 

"So  it  is,"  assented  the  captain,  slowly. 
"Blamed  if  we  didn't  nearly  run  it  down." 

They  crossed  the  street,  and  Uncle  Hagen  was 
about  to  pound  on  the  door  with  one  of  his  sledge 
145 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

hammer  blows,  when  Nelson  caught  his  arm. 
"Hold  up, — captain,  here's  the  button."  He 
pressed  it  with  his  thumb  and  a  tidy  looking  maid 
appeared. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Uncle  Hagen,  with  cor 
dial-hearted  effusiveness,  "we  called  to  see  the 
ladies." 

The  well-trained  little  domestic  looked  at  the 
men  suspiciously. 

"The  ladies  are  not  at  home,"  she  said 
brusquely.  She  was  about  to  shut  the  door. 
"Pardon,"  said  Nelson  quietly,  "this  gentleman 
wishes  to  see  his  niece,  Miss  Gunther,  when  will  she 
return  ?" 

There  was  something  about  his  manner,  his  poise 
and  gentle  assurance,  that  caused  her  to  suddenly 
change  her  conclusions. 

Here  was  no  book  agent. 

"The  ladies  have  gone  to  New  York,"  she  an 
swered  politely. 

"New  York,"  they  repeated  in  chorus. 

"Did  she  leave  any  word  for  me — Hilda,"  in 
quired  the  captain,  anxiously. 
146 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"For  her  uncle — Miss  Gunther's  uncle — Cap 
tain  Hagen  Gunther?"  explained  Nelson. 

"Of  Orr's  Island? — oh — yes,"  her  face  bright 
ened.  She  stepped  back  into  the  hall  and  took  a 
letter  from  the  table.  "I  was  just  going  to  take 
it  to  the  box." 

It  was  from  Hilda. 

The  captain  took  the  letter,  turned  it  over  and 
over  several  times,  and  began  a  fruitless  fumble  for 
his  spectacles. 

Nelson  waited  impatiently. 

"I  know  I  haven't  them,  because  I  never  carry 
them  away  from  home,"  he  remarked  finally.  Then 
he  put  the  letter  carefully  away  in  an  inner  pocket, 
and  turned  back,  down  the  front  steps. 

Nelson  followed  him. 

"Good  morning—"  said  the  captain  to  the  maid, 
as  he  removed  his  cap  and  made  a  sweeping  bow, 
"my  respects  to  Mr.  Donald."  Nelson  was  all 
agog  with  suppressed  expectation.  "Perhaps  I 
could  read  it  for  you,"  he  suggested. 

"Perhaps  you  could —  '  answered  the  captain. 
"Let's  get  some  place." 

147 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

They  walked  down  to  the  hotel,  and  in  a  quiet 
corner  of  the  lobby  Nelson  read: 
Dear  Uncle  Hagen: 

There  is  not  much  to  write  about,  or 
I  would  have  written  you  before  this.  I 
never  knew  Portland  could  be  so  dull. 
Grace  is  awfully  nice,  but  every  place 
seems  so  hot  and  stuffy — it  makes  me  feel 
irritable  and  disagreeable  all  the  time. 
John  says  we  need  a  change,  so  he  got 
excursion  tickets  on  the  boat  to  New 
York  for  Grace  and  me.  We  leave  this 
evening.  I  don't  know  when  we  will  re 
turn. 

Good-bye. 

Hilda. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  said  the  captain.     "She  isn't 
feeling  well — I  can  tell  that  right  away." 

Nelson  handed  him  the  letter,  and  stared  gloom 
ily  through  the  window. 

"Rather  risky —  '  he  remarked,  calamitously — 
"I  should  say,  for  those  two  girls  to  go  travelling 
all  alone." 

148 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Risky — ?  Oh  not  very.  The  Morning  Star  is 
an  able  boat,"  answered  the  captain,  cheerfully. 
"It  isn't  like  railroads,  you  know,  where  everything 
is  running  on  the  same  course — sure  to  foul  some 
thing.  Now  with  the  boat  it's  different.  Her 
course  lays  pretty  well  out  to  sea,  where  she  has 
plenty  of  room— clear  of  most  everything — 
'cepting  when  she  gets  into  the  Sound,"  he  added 
thoughtfully.  "It  is  kind  of  crowded  in  Long 
Island  Sound,  that's  a  fact." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  said  Nelson,  still 
lowering ;  "it's  the  risk — 

"What  risk?"  interrupted  Uncle  Hagen,  with 
marked  anxiety. 

"Those  two  girls,  all  alone — in — in  New  York," 
Nelson  surmised. 

A  light  broke  in  on  the  captain.  He  laughed 
reassuringly. 

"Don't  worry  about  that  pair,  Hilda  can  take 
care  of  herself  anywhere — so  can  Grace.  We  folks 
learn  to  care  for  ourselves  at  an  early  age — we 
have  to — we  can't  afford  otherwise."  He  un 
crossed  lu's  legs,  and  arose  from  his  chair.  He  ex- 
149 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

tended  a  hand  to  Nelson.     "Come  back  when  you 
can — always  glad  to  see  you,"  he  added  cordially. 

Nelson  retained  the  strong,  honest  hand  in  a  firm 
grip.  The  ties  were  loosening  that  had  held  him 
to  the  islands.  He  was  loath  to  see  old  man  Gun- 
ther  depart.  He  had  formed  a  genuine  friendship 
for  the  captain — a  friendship  that  had  its  origin 
and  being  in  the  admiration  he  had  for  his  invin 
cible  honesty — his  gentle  unselfishness — his  cour 
age.  Apart  from  that,  he  was  Hilda's  uncle  and 
only  remaining  relative.  He  shook  his  hand 
warmly,  affectionately.  "Drop  me  a  line,  captain, 
if  you  get  up  that  race, — I  might  want  to  enter  a 
boat." 

"Would  you  now — sure  I  will — where  shall  I 
write  you  ?"  his  eyes  glistened. 

First  of  all,  and  before  everything,  the  captain 
loved  a  boat  race. 

Nelson  tore  a  leaf  from  his  note  book  and  wrote : 
"William  Collins,  The  Luxmore,  New  York." 

Uncle  Hagen  stuffed  the  bit  of  paper  in  his  vest 
pocket. 

"I'll  let  you  know — good-bye." 
150 


IX 


aT  the  same  hour — it  may  have  been  at  the  same 
moment  when  Nelson  was  bidding  Uncle 
Hagen  good-bye — Hilda  and  her  friend 
Grace  were  comfortably  seated  on  the  upper  deck 
of  the  Morning  Star,  en  route  for  New  York.  The 
skies  were  clear,  the  wind  astern,  and  the  gentle 
swell  of  the  ocean  only  contributed  to  a  delightful 
sense  of  undulation — restless,  disquieting  to  some 
— enjoyable  to  those  who  love  the  sea.  As  the 
steamer  clove  her  way  steadily  through  the  light 
waves  her  prow  cut  great  furrows  in  the  blue 
water,  that  rose  and  fell  in  curving,  splashing 
beauty. 

"Well,  Hilda,  as  I  said  before,  the  man  is  in  love 
with  you — dead  in  love.     Now  what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it?"  demanded  Grace  Donald. 
"How  do  you  know?"  asked  Hilda. 
"How  do  I  know !"  repeated  Grace,  with  some 
151 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

little  show  of  impatience.  Remember  that  Grace 
and  her  friend  Hilda  had  spent  most  of  the  night 
talking  it  over,  in  the  close  intimacy  of  their  state 
room.  "Don't  be  so  foolish,  Hilda." 

Hilda  looked  offended. 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  said. 

"Do !"  Young  Mrs.  Donald  sat  up  straight  in 
her  deck  chair,  compressed  her  lips — full  red  lips 
— and  gazed  sternly  out  to  sea.  Her  countenance 
was  severe,  steadfast. 

Hilda  dropped  her  chin  into  her  hands,  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  and  stared  into  the  horizon. 
She  was  evidently  perturbed,  disquieted. 

"Grace,  you  don't  know — everything,"  she  said, 
in  a  feeble,  troubled  voice. 

"No — not  everything.  Only  the  things  that 
you  told  me,"  returned  Grace.  "But  if  you  want 
to  lose  the  chance  of  your  lifetime.  A  chance — !" 
Mrs.  Grace  Donald's  pretty  mouth  seemed  to  frame 
a  comprehensive  whistle.  "Well — just  keep  run 
ning  away  from  him  every  chance  that  you  get 
and —  Again  she  compressed  her  lips,  and  gazed 
out  to  sea. 

152 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"You  are  angry,"  Hilda  murmured,  plaintively. 

"Angry?  No, — but  when  a  man  like  that  asks 
you  to  marry  him — 

"He  didn't  ask  me —  "  interrupted  Hilda. 

"Oh— well,  if  he  didn't  exactly  ask  you,  he 'will, 
all  the  same — if  you  give  him  another  chance," 
continued  Grace. 

"Absurd,"  said  Hilda,  positively.  "You  really 
are  wrong.  Mr.  Thomas  and  I  are  mere  friends, — 
why  I  have  known  him  only  a  few  weeks." 

"Really —  "  scoffed  Grace.  "But  a  mere  friend 
of  the  other  sex,  who  makes  love  to  you  the  moment 
he  sees  you,  and  who  follows  you  to  your  home, 
insinuates  himself  into  the  family,  takes  long  walks 
with  you,  assumes  a  disguise  that  is  intended  to 
deceive  everyone  but  you;  a  friend  who  puts  his 
arm  around  you,  and  kiss — 

"He  did  not !"  interrupted  Hilda,  indignantly, 
her  face  flushing. 

"Oh — well.  He  tried  to — what's  the  differ 
ence  ?",asked  the  wise  young  matron. 

"The  difference  is  between  the  act  and  the  in 
tention,"  laughed  Hilda. 
153 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Sure — he  showed  his  intentions,  right  along. 
That's  what  I've  been  saying,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Donald. 

Hilda  resolved. 

"I  did  not  tell  you  everything,  Grace,"  she  said ; 
"but  I  happen  to  know  that  Mr.  Thomas  is  in  love 
with  another  woman — really.  .  .  .  He  told 
me  that  he  had  had  a  chance  to  marry — but— 
She  looked  down  to  the  deck,  avoiding  her  com 
panion's  curious  stare. 

"Did  he,  indeed? — and  what  else  did  he  say — 
about  marriage."  Grace  assumed  an  attitude  of 
receptive  interest.  "For  a  mere  friend  he  certainly 
was  very — very  confiding." 

"He  said  that  he  had  neglected  the  chance." 

Hilda  spoke  ingenuously. 

Grace  laughed — a  hearty,  good-natured  laugh, 
full  of  merriment.  "So— and  why  did  he  neglect 
it?"  she  asked. 

Hilda  changed  her  position,  and  moved  closer 
to  her  friend.  Her  face  was  a  study  of  fugitive 
lights  and  shades,  as  they  passed,  and  repassed 
across  her  expressive  countenance. 

154 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Oh — you  old  quiz —  "  Hilda  remonstrated. 

"He  said  he  was  in  love  with  another  woman," 
she  added. 

"Did  he  happen  to  mention  her  name?"  enquired 
Grace. 

Hilda  shook  her  head.  "He  did  not  tell  me  her 
name.  But  he  said  that  she  was  very  beautiful — 
with  light  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and — oh,  yes — he 
said  that  she  had  white  teeth." 

"Wonderful —  '  commented  Grace.  "What  a 
sight  she  would  be  with  black  teeth  ?" 

Hilda's  lips  curved  into  a  faint  little  moue — it 
was  hardly  a  pout. 

"I  won't  tell  you  any  more,"  she  affirmed. 

"Oh — yes,  please  go  on.  She  had  light  hair, 
blue  eyes,  white  teeth, — and  when  she  pouts  her 
lips  curve  over  them  in  the  most  charming  manner. 
She  has  a  lovely  complexion,  that  is  getting  red 
der  and  redder  every  moment — and  she  lives  with 
the  dearest  old  uncle,  on  Orr's  Island.  Gracious ! 
What  is  the  matter?" 

"Goodness !"  exclaimed  Hilda.  Evidently  a 
sudden,  embarrassing  thought  had  entered  her 
155 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

mind.  She  stared  intently  out  to  sea,  her  hands 
clasped  tightly,  her  head  bent  forward — her  mind 
recalling  every  word,  every  action  of  that  evening 
on  Sunset  Hill. 

"What  is  it  Hilda?"  enquired  her  friend  anx 
iously. 

Hilda  laughed  unmusically. 

"Oh — -I  hope  not —  "  she  said ;  "and  yet  it  does 
seem  to  be  me — that  is  that  he  meant  me.  Oh 
Grace, — do  you  really  think  that  he  was  describing 
me?" 

"You — !  No  indeed.  The  idea,"  she  said  iron 
ically.  "I  don't  think  that  he  gave  you  a  thought." 

"You   don't  understand,  Grace,"  she  went   on. 

"I  mean,  do  you  think  that  he  thought,  that  I 
thought — " 

"WheAV !"  Grace  pursed  her  mouth  into  a  mock 
ing  whistle.  "Now  then — which  thought  was  it?" 

Hilda  stamped  her  foot  impatiently  on  the  deck. 
"Grace  Donald — do  you  suppose  that  he  knew — 
that  I  knew — " 

She  stopped,  and  blushed  furiously. 

"Silly.— Why  of  course  he  did." 
156 


PART  THIRD 


NELSON  THOMAS  was  thinking— but  that's 
another  story.    His  mind  did  not  dwell  long 
on  the  subject,  but  went  back,  and  over  and 
over  again  to  the  one  thing  of  all  others  that  could 
interest  him. 

One  would  think  that  he  had  satisfied  himself 
that  his  pursuit  of  Hilda  was  futile,  his  efforts  una 
vailing.  She  had  fled  from  him  without  a  word; 
she  had  not  even  mentioned  his  name  in  her  letter 
to  Uncle  Hagen ;  she  had  gone  on  an  aimless  excur 
sion  to  New  York,  without  a  moment's  thought  of 
the  abject  loneliness  that  she  ought  to  have  known 
would  be  his  portion. 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  office  of  the  hotel; 
he  sat  down  to  read  the  papers ;  he  wrote  several 
letters,  one  long  one  to  Hilda — and  tore  them  up, 
one  by  one  as  they  were  finished.  He  telegraphed 
to  his  aunt  that  he  would  join  them  at  Bar  Harbor, 
159 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

and  withdrew  the  message  while  the  patient  opera 
tor  was  checking  up  the  number  of  words  that  it 
contained.  He  smoked  cigarettes,  cigars  and  his 
pipe,  until  his  tongue  became  blistered  and  his  head 
dizzy.  Try  as  he  would  there  was  nothing  that 
he  could  do,  nothing  worth  while  doing — he  was 
hot,  feverish,  impatient.  "By  George !"  he  thun 
dered  to  his  inner  consciousness,  "I  must  see  her 
again — I  must- — I  shall." 

And  then — having  made  up  his  mind — he  went 
over  carefully,  all  the  connecting  links,  from  Uncle 
Hagen  to  Hilda;  from  Hilda  to  Mrs.  Donald; 
from  Mrs.  Donald  to  her  husband — John  ! 
John  Donald.  Of  course.  He  remembered  when 
the  captain  had  told  him  that  Grace's  husband 
worked  in  the  bank.  He  remembered  that  a  Mr. 
Donald  was  the  paying  teller  in  his  own  bank  of 
deposit  in  Portland.  He  would  go  down  town  at 
once,  and  draw  some  money.  Incidentally  he  would 
make  John's  acquaintance.  It  was  a  reasonable 
conclusion  that  John  would  know  his  wife's  address 
in  New  York.  That  was  pure  logic. 

So  he  called  on  John  Donald 

1GO 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Several  hours  later  he  was  seated  in  the  smoking 
compartment  of  the  New  York  sleeper.  As  he  lit 
his  cigar  his  eyes  roved  carelessly — through  the 
veil  of  smoke — at  his  fellow  passengers.  He  saw 
first  of  all  a  conspicuous  pair  of  yellow  shoes,  then 
a  brown  suit,  then  a  drooping  mustache,  then  the 
weary  face  of  Charlie  Lighthall. 

"By — Jove,  Nelson —  "  was  his  amiable  greeting 
as  he  crossed  over  and  sat  down  beside  him.  .  .  . 

"And  the  ladies?"  enquired  Nelson. 

"They  are  in  the  car  ahead — going  to  New 
York,  for  some  shopping.  Then  it's  a  party  at 
your  aunt's  place  in  the  country." 

"Um —        Nelson  smoked  steadily. 

"They  were  wondering  what  had  become  of 
you?" 

"Um —        He  went  on  smoking. 

As  the  night  advanced  the  other  occupants  of 
the  compartment  retired  to  their  berths.  Light- 
hall  selected  a  large  brown  cigar,  encased  in  a 
bright  red  band,  and  became  confidential. 

"I'm  awfully  glad,  that  we  happened  to  meet — ," 
he  began,  with  marked  hesitancy. 
161 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"How  much  is  it,  Charlie?"  he  asked  cheerfully. 
"I  know  my  aunt  is  a  perfect  terror  in  bridge — I 
should  have  warned  you."  He  reached  for  his 
pocket  cheque  book.  Lighthall  laughed.  "It's 
not  so  bad  as  that."  He  shifted  uneasily  on  the 
leather  cushions.  "It's  about — about — Miss  Con 
rad." 

"Oh —  Nelson  stretched  out  his  legs,  and 
yawned  comfortably.  "What's  she  been  up  to?" 

"She — I — that  is — we  are  engaged,"  announced 
Lighthall  solemnly. 

"W-h— a — t?"  exclaimed  Nelson,  with  a  rising, 
and  increasing  tone  of  voice.  He  suddenly  sat  up 
straight,  and  stared  at  his  companion.  "You  don't 
mean  it?" 

"Fact — ,"  said  Lighthall,  nodding  his  head. 

"We  fixed  it  up  on  the  Phyllis." 

"Well—!    Of  all  the  supernal  luck." 

He  felt  like  shouting  his  approval. 

"Yes — I  was  rather  lucky,"  drawled  Lighthall 
complacently." 


162 


II 


IN  an  apartment  house,  in  New  York — on  West 
End  Avenue,  above  One  Hundred  and  Fif 
teenth  Street,  there  is  a  cozy  little  suite  of 
rooms  occupied  by  Mrs.  Henry  Wyse  and  her  son 
Edward.  Mrs.  Wyse  is  of  medium  stature,  and 
stands  as  erect  as  she  did  when  she  was  eighteen 
years  old.  She  has  a  perfectly  proportioned 
plump  little  figure,  clear  regular  features,  snap 
ping,  and  twinkling  brown  eyes,  and  lovely  gray 
hair  brushed  back  from  her  forehead  a  la  Madam 
la  Marchioness  de  Pompadour.  When  Mrs.  Wyse 
smiles,  which  is  practically  all  the  time — and  don't 
misunderstand  me  by  imagining  her  as  wearing  one 
of  those  irritating  and  false  set  of  mirthful 
wrinkles — her  eyes  beam  with  a  healthy  good 
nature,  her  lips  part  with  a  half  uttered  blessing, 
and  her  whole  countenance  radiates  such  a  glow  of 
honest  living,  that  one  leaves  her  presence  the  bet 
ter  for  having  seen  her. 

163 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  suite  contained  a  dining  room,  a  sitting 
room,  two  bed  rooms,  and  a  kitchen.  There  is 
another  alleged  bed  room,  near  the  kitchen — but 
the  assertion  is  only  one  of  the  optimistic  fictions  of 
Mrs.  Wyse,  when  she  has  visitors.  This  closet  is 
called  the  spare  room,  and  is  always  occupied  by 
Mrs.  Wyse  herself,  when  by  chance  her  visitors 
should  remain  with  her  over  a  night. 

The  principal  furnishings  of  the  rooms  consist 
of  several  old  pieces  of  such  undoubted  respectabil 
ity,  brought  from  her  old  home,  in  Philadelphia, 
that  one  can  easily  surmise  the  environments  in 
which  Mrs.  Wyse  spent  her  childhood. 

These  old  bits  of  furniture  are  arranged  in  the 
narrow  spaces  of  the  apartments  with  such  consum 
mate,  artistic  effect,  that  the  circumscribed  limita 
tions  of  the  walls  are  lost.  One  sinks  into  the  near 
est,  comfortable  chair — out  of  the  cosmopolitan 
hurly-burly — with  a  sigh  of  restful  content.  In 
these  rooms  are  no  repinings,  no  regrets  for  what 
might  have  been,  no  longing  for  what  has  been ; 
on  the  contrary  the  mistress  of  this  miniature  home 
faces  her  daily  life  with  a  keen  enjoyment  of  the 
164 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

present,  and  a  delightful  anticipation  of  the 
future.  Sufficient  happiness,  to  her,  that  her  son 
Edward — her  first  born— is  now  adding  a  modicum 
each  month,  to  the  slender  purse  that  assisted  him 
through  the  Columbia  Law  School. 

Mrs.  Wyse  is  embroidering.  The  heavily  shaded 
lamp  on  the  centre  table  sheds  a  light  upon  her 
white  hands,  and  shining  needle,  as  she  deftly  fol 
lows  the  intricacies  of  the  pattern.  The  rest  of  the 
room  is  shrouded  in  a  cool  subdued  light  that 
permits  the  windows  to  be  open,  and  to  admit  a 
light  breeze  from  the  river. 

The  fugitive  zephyr  gently  stirs  the  thin  cur 
tains  that  frame  a  picture  of  the  dining  room. 
The  table  is  set  for  dinner,  and  the  candles — in  old 
glass  candle-sticks  of  unquestioned  antiquity — shed 
a  soft  light  from  their  shaded  yellow  flames.  The 
little  maid  in  the  kitchen, — who  comes  each  morn 
ing  and  departs  in  the  evening, — is  putting  the 
final  touches  to  the  concomitants  of  a  well  cooked 
meal,  when  a  bell  rings  in  the  narrow  hall. 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Wyse  has  opened  the  door. 
In  another  moment  she  is  struggling  in  the  united 
165 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

and  then  alternating  embraces  of  her  daughter, 
Grace  Donald,  and  of  her  school  friend,  Hilda 
Gunther 

The  dialogue  that  immediately  followed  the  en 
trance  of  the  two  girls  is  beyond  my  powers  of  re 
cording — because  they  all  spoke  at  once.  To  dif 
ferentiate  between  the  three  would  be  impossible. 
The  entrance  of  Edward  only  added  to  the  univer 
sal  buzzing,  and  it  was  only  after  his  departure,  in 
the  evening,  that  some  coherent  idea  could  be  had 
of  the  conversation  that  ensued. 

Mrs.  Wyse,  sitting  on  the  sofa,  with  her  daugh 
ter  Grace  on  one  side  of  her,  and  Hilda  on  the 
other — heard  the  whole  story. 

"Nelson  Thomas?"  she  said  reflectively.  "Ah — 
I  have  it — " 

Then  she  began : 

"He  must  be  the  son  of  Nelson  Thomas,  of  the 
old  dry  goods  firm  of  Thomas  &  Conrad.  They 
were  wholesale  merchants,  on  Market  Street,  Phila 
delphia,  from  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember.  He 
made  a  fortune,  and  retired.  Then  he  moved  to 
New  York  so  that  his  wife  might  have  a  larger 

166 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

field  for  her  social  ambitions.  She  was  a  Miss  Col 
lins,  and  your  new  friend,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Hilda,  "took  the  name  of  his  grandfather,  on  his 
mother's  side,  when  he  changed  his  name  to  Wil 
liam  Collins,  of  Philadelphia.  There  were  two 
brothers  by  the  name  of  Thomas  in  the  firm.  The 
aunt  you  speak  of  must  be  the  widow  of  his  father's 
brother.  And  Miss  Conrad  is  probably  the  daugh 
ter  of  the  other  partner.  There — ,"  she  laughed, 
"I've  told  you  all  that  I  know  about  them." 


167 


Ill 


following  morning  a  party  of  four  sat 
1  down  to  breakfast  in  a  fashionable  cafe  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  They  had  endured  all  the 
discomforts  of  a  hot  night  on  a  sleeping  car;  the 
hour  was  unusually  early,  the  waiters  were  tired 
and  listless,  and  the  smell  of  mops,  soap,  and  cigar 
ette  smoke  permeated  the  air.  Outside,  the  dust 
hung  in  suspension  between  the  glaring  walls  of 
the  houses,  like  a  thin  veil  through  which  the  red 
sun  shone  warm  and  sullen.  Three  members  of  the 
party  made  scarcely  an  effort  to  hide  the  evident 
fact  that  a  discordant  note  interrupted  the  har 
mony  of  their  conversation. 

Strange  to  say,  the  jarring  impression  was  pro 
duced  by  the  contrariety  of  qualities  whereby  the 
happiness  of  one  irritated  the  others. 

Nelson  Thomas  was  in  a  mood  so  jubilant,  so 
hilarious,  that  it  vexed  his  aunt  almost  beyond  en- 
168 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

durance.  "You  seem  to  be  very — in  fact  unusually 
happy,"  she  said  to  him  crossly.  "I  should  think 
that  you  would  miss  the  air,  the  green  grass,  and 
the — what  is  it? — the  simple  life,  of  Mackerel 
Cove.  Dear  me — New  York  is  bad  enough  in  Sep 
tember,  under  any  condition,  but  to  arrive  on  the 
hottest  day  of  the  year — I  can't  understand  your 
cheerfulness." 

"It  is  beastly  hot,  you  know,"  observed  Light- 
hall,  with  much  originality,  while  Miss  Conrad 
looked  at  Nelson  reproachfully. 

"It  will  not  be  so  bad  in  the  country,"  she  said 
pacifically.  "You  will  go  with  us  of  course." 

"Of  course,"  said  his  aunt  decisively,  while 
Nelson  searched  his  mind  for  an  excuse  that  would 
be  at  least  convincing.  His  aunt's  house  party, 
usually  the  first  week  in  September,  was  an  annual 
event  which  heretofore  he  had  accepted  with  a 
lesser  indifference  than  characterized  his  other  en 
gagements.  In  his  life  the  seasons  came  and  went 
with  monotonous  regularity.  There  was  the  usual 
round  of  festivities  in  New  York,  in  the  winter 
months.  Palm  Beach  and  perhaps  the  Bermudas 
169 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

in  the  early  raw  spring.  The  Northern  waters, 
with  his  yacht,  or  a  trip  to  Europe ;  Aix  or  Carls 
bad,  for  his  health,  in  the  summer.  All  these  were 
of  minor  importance — events  that  could  be 
changed,  sojourns  that  could  be  lengthened,  short 
ened,  or  postponed  indefinitely,  or  given  up  al 
together,  according  to  his  own  fancy — but  his 
aunt's  house  party  in  the  early  autumn  was  an 
event  that  admitted  of  no  declination.  When, 
therefore,  she  said  "of  course,"  he  knew  that 
nothing  less  than  his  doctor's  certificate  of  serious 
illness  would  be  accepted  by  her  as  an  excuse  for 
declining  her  invitation. 

Of  course  he  was  familiar  with  his  aunt's  cher 
ished  plans.  He  knew  of  her  ambition  to  unite  the 
accumulated  fortunes  of  the  surviving  descendants 
of  the  old  house  of  Thomas  &  Conrad.  In  a 
leisurely  way  he  had  considered  the  plan  as  pos 
sible,  and  even  as  probable.  Anne  Conrad's  image 
faultlessly  gowned,  well-bred,  handsome,  had 
haunted  him  for  years.  It  was  Anne  who  had  been 
to  him  a  friend,  good  comrade,  companion.  It  was 
Anne,  he  confessed  to  himself,  with  a  shade  of  irri- 
170 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

tation,  who  had  encouraged  him  to  write  his  book 
— who  had  whetted  his  appetite  for  the  feast  of 
literature.  It  was  Anne  who  had  just  said  "of 
course,"  and  which  his  aunt  had  echoed  deci 
sively.  It  was  Anne  who  was  looking  into  his  eyes 
for  his  answer. 

All  this  happened  in  much  less  time  than  it  has 
taken  to  relate.  In  fact  there  was  no  time  at  all 
for  Nelson  to  consider  his  answer,  according  to 
the  inexorable  laws  of  good  breeding.  So  he  ac 
quiesced  in  their  decision,  and  motioned  to  the 
waiter  to  bring  him  the  bill 

Somehow,  the  beauty  of  the  country  appeared 
to  Nelson  as  it  had  never  appeared  before.  As  the 
carriage,  with  its  rubber  tires,  rolled  smoothly, 
noiselessly  along  the  perfectly  surfaced  roads,  the 
air  seemed  to  freshen  as  the  heat  of  the  day  gave 
way  to  the  soft  warmth  of  the  early  evening.  A 
little  further,  and  they  had  turned  from  the  main 
road  into  a  narrow  lane  that  led  to  "The  Oaks." 

On  both  sides  of  the  lane  were  tall  hedges  of  un- 
cropped  privet.  Over  the  top  of  the  hedges  he 
could  see  on  one  side  an  orchard  full  of  fruit-laden 
171 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

trees.  On  the  other  side  the  ground  sloped  ab 
ruptly  to  a  cool,  green  meadow,  through  which 
— winding  leisurely,  in  and  out  of  the  tall  grass — 
flowed  a  stream  of  limpid  beauty.  Nearer  the 
house  the  lane  curved  under  the  grateful  umbra  of 
several  large  oak  trees.  In  the  sunny  places  the 
grasshoppers  jumped  wildly  ahead  of  the  horses 
with  a  sharp  "tchk."  On  a  limb  of  one  of  the  oak 
trees  an  importunate  robin  was  wildly  calling  to  its 
mate,  "dear-ee,  dear-ee,"  as  if  its  little  heart  was 
bursting  with  anxious  tenderness. 

They  sat  side  by  side,  touching  each  other, 
silently.  Often,  I  don't  know  how  many  times, 
they  had  taken  the  drive  together.  To-day,  some 
how,  it  was  all  different.  To  Nelson  had  come  the 
joy  of  loving.  To  Anne  had  come  an  irritating 
sense  of  loss. 

These  two  sat  silently  side  by  side,  while  Light- 
hall  and  Mrs.  Thomas  on  the  opposite  seat  were 
conversing  about  airy  nothings. 

"What  a  delightful  place, "said  Nelson  fervently 
as  the  carriage  stopped  under  the  spreading 
branches  of  a  large  tree,  in  front  of  the  old  house. 

172 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Curious,  how  the  building  should  take  on  such 
an  air  of  picturesque  beauty.  On  other  occasions 
it  had  been  nothing  more  to  him  than  a  rather 
stupid,  lonely  place  in  the  country ;  a  place  where 
he  was  always  certain  of  meeting  Anne.  He  knew 
that  his  aunt  arranged  such  matters  according  to 
her  match-making  proclivities.  He  had  accepted 
the  arrangements  as  a  part  of  her  entertainment, 
to  be  enjoyed  or  ignored  as  the  humor  possessed 
him.  There  was  the  old  part,  very  old  for  this 
country,  probably  two  hundred  years,  built  of 
stone  from  a  nearby  quarry.  The  walls  were  of 
immense  thickness,  and  were  pierced  with  small 
square  windows ;  they  had  been  coated  with  plaster 
of  a  drab  color  that  was  almost  covered  with  a 
luxuriant  ivy.  A  long  low  building  containing  the 
halls  connected  the  old  with  the  newer  portions. 
The  latter  was  modern-looking,  with  numberless 
bay  windows,  long  and  low,  in  harmony  with  the 
general  plan  of  remodeling,  and  designated  by  the 
architect  as  colonial. 

Projecting  from  the  front  veranda  was  a  brick 
terrace  that  had  been  designed  for  a  tea  terrace. 
173 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

A  large  linden  tree  extended  its  limbs  overhead; 
mats  of  woven  grass  were  laid  on  the  bricks ;  there 
were  rustic  chairs  of  curiously  contrived  bent 
wood,  and  small  tables  holding  jardinieres  of 
feathery  ferns. 

It  was  Nelson's  favorite  place  to  smoke  his  after 
dinner  cigar.  The  others  had  retired,  and  he 
imagined  that  he  would  be  alone.  As  he  stepped 
from  the  veranda  a  figure  in  white  arose  from  one 
of  the  most  secluded  chairs. 

"Pardon —  He  stepped  to  one  side  as  Anne 
advanced  into  the  moonlight.  "Don't  go."  She 
hesitated  and  sat  down. 

"I  wasn't  going,"  she  said,  calmly.  "I  thought 
it  probable  that  you  would  come  here."  She  drew 
a  chair  into  the  moonlight  in  front  of  her — so  that 
she  could  watch  his  expression.  "Sit  there,  please." 
He  laughed,  and  lit  his  cigar.  "It's  time  for  little 
girls  to  be  in  bed — but  just  this  once  you  may  sit 
up  ten  minutes  longer,"  he  said  jokingly. 

She  drew  herself  up.  He  was  familiar  with  the 
action.  He  knew  that  her  mood  was  not  in  har 
mony  with  his  jest.  Under  other  circumstances  he 
174 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

would  have  known  just  how  to  sooth  her  evident 
displeasure.  He  had  never  really  loved  her.  But, 
they  had  grown  up  together,  and  propinquity  had 
woven  and  interwoven  much  of  their  thoughts  and 
actions.  She  was  intelligent,  thoroughly  educated, 
and  companionable.  Her  unconcealed  admiration 
of  his  budding  talents  ;  her  modest  suggestions,  had 
spurred  him  on  to  renewed  efforts,  at  times  when 
he  most  needed  such  incentives.  He  had  played, 
studied,  quarrelled,  travelled  with  Anne  for  so  long 
a  time  that  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  her. 

That  was  all. 

He  knew  that  she  was  irritable,  sensitive. 

"I  want  to  ask  your  advice — your  opinion. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  give  me  your  honest,  your 
candid  opinion."  She  said  it  very  slowly,  very 
deliberately ;  herself  in  the  shadow,  her  eyes  in 
tently  fixed  on  his  face,  showing  clearly  in  the 
moonlight. 

"I  will  always  be  honest  with  you,  Anne,"  he 

answered  with   equal   deliberation.     Men   are   not 

supposed  to  have  the  delicate  insight  necessary  to 

fathom  a  woman's  mind ;  but  Nelson  knew,  to  a  cer- 

175 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

tainty,  her  question  before  she  asked  it.  The 
struggle  had  already  commenced  in  his  mind,  be 
tween  his  ideal  sense  of  right,  and  what  is  com 
monly  called  right  by  the  majority  of  so-called 
good  people.  On  the  latter  side  were  visions  of  a 
young  woman  with  masses  of  golden  hair  glinting 
and  sparkling  in  the  glow  of  an  August  afternoon 
—and  a  little  white  "bo-it." 

"You  know  that  Mr.  Lighthall  has  asked  me  to 
marry  him?"  Her  eyes  never  left  his  face  for  an 
instant. 

"I  know  it — yes,"  he  answered.  "Now  comes 
the  crux,"  he  whispered  to  his  soul.  "If  I  get  over 
this  and  retain  my  self  respect  there  is  hope." 

"What  would  you  advise  me  to  do?" 

"Honest?"  said  Nelson. 

"Honest,"  repeated  Anne. 

He  hesitated  for  the  merest,  wavering  part  of  an 
instant.  No  man  is  perfect. 

"Anne,"  he  said  quietly,  his  soft  brown  eyes 
glowing  kindly,  affectionately.  "I  would  not  con 
sider  his  proposal  for  a  moment."  Then  he  stood 
up,  and  for  a  pretense  turned  his  back  to  her,  as 

176 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

he  threw  his  cigar  far  over  the  terrace.  Before  he 
turned,  a  pair  of  cool,  white  arms  encircled  his 
neck,  and  the  slightest  touch  of  velvety  lips 
brushed  his  cheek.  "Thank  you  Nelson,"  she  mur 
mured  in  his  ear.  "Good  night." 
And  yet — 


177 


IV 


NELSON,  in  dressing  gown  and  slippers,  was 
suffering  the  apathetical  feeling  that,  un 
fortunately,  generally  follows  the  perform 
ance  of  highly  virtuous  actions.  His  conscience 
approved  so  fully  that  it  left  him  without  any  of 
the  stimulating  thoughts  that  excite  the  mind.  He 
had  saved  Anne  from  a  marriage  with  Lighthall — 
a  contingency  which  had  first  appeared  to  him  as 
supernal  luck — for  the  best  of  reasons: — that  she 
was  too  good  for  him.  Then  he  had  written  a 
short  explanatory  note  to  Hilda, — also  in  the 
practice  of  duty — in  which  he  informed  her  that  he 
and  William  Collins  were  one  and  the  same  indivi 
dual.  Both  of  which,  he  no  doubt  assured  himself, 
were  morally  blameless,  commendable  actions— and 
in  accord  with  his  ideals.  To  be  sure,  the  probable 
results  of  his  strict  performance  of  duty  seemed  to 
indicate  a  balance  greatly  to  his  taste.  Hilda 
would  no  doubt  regard  Nelson  Thomas,  the  million- 
178 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

aire,  with  more  favor  than  she  had  accorded  Wil 
liam  Collins,  the  casual  summer  boarder. 

Regarding  Anne — ? 

Well—      .... 

He  was  enduring  the  approval  of  his  conscience, 
when  a  servant  entered  his  room  with  a  pot  of 
coffee.  On  the  tray  was  the  morning  paper,  and 
Hilda's  answer.  It  was  not  very  long : 

Dear  Mr.  Thomas: 
I  knew  it  all  the  time. 

Sincerely, 

Brunhilda  Gunther. 


179 


THE  Luxmore  was  one  of  the  most  exuberant  of 
the  luxurious  hotels  in  a  city  where  extrava 
gance  in  hostelries  is  the  rule.  It  was  fur 
nished  with  a  lavish  expenditure  that  far  exceeded 
all  previous  attempts  in  public  house  fittings. 
What  it  lacked  in  taste  was  made  up  in  glittering 
folderols  that  were  positively  bewildering.  In 
order  that  each  individual  predilection  of  its  cosmo 
politan  guests  should  be  satisfied,  nearly  every 
apartment  in  its  vast  interior  was  after  a  different 
design — ranging  from  the  mediaeval  to  the  present 
day. 

In  the  coffee  room  of  the  sumptuous  pile  Nel 
son  sat  comfortably,  recalling  preceding  events. 
For  an  hour,  probably  longer,  he  had  been  wan 
dering  restlessly  around  the  public  rooms  of  the 
hotel — from  the  Chinese  to  the  Spanish  reception 
rooms,  across  to  the  French  alcove,  and  then  to  the 
180 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Dutch  cafe — thinking — thinking  of  the  insignifi 
cant  little  note  which  he  carried  close  to  his  heart, 
in  an  inner  pocket.  It  was  not  much  of  a  note  to 
cause  all  the  commotion  that  was  agitating  his 
mind ;  it  was  a  very  flippant,  pert  sort  of  a  note, 
but  it  was  remarkable  how  tenderly  he  regarded  it. 
As  he  roamed  through  the  polychromatic  halls  and 
recesses,  he  would  stop  in  each  shaded  retreat,  and 
stealthily  draw  forth  the  envelope  that  contained 
a  message  of  but  half  a  dozen  words.  Then,  un 
der  cover  of  his  hand,  he  would  press  the  bit  of 
paper  to  his  lips — and  imagine  that  he  could  de 
tect  the  perfume  of  pine  balsam.  This  was  all 
preliminary,  in  a  measure, — an  expression  of 
happiness  in  the  receipt  of  a  letter  from  Hilda — 
a  letter  written  in  her  own  hand ;  a  message  direct  . 
from  her  to  him.  He  read  it  over  and  over — a 
great  many  times,  for  the  pure  joy  of  it,  and  then, 
like  a  man,  he  sat  down  comfortably  in  the  cafe  to 
reason  the  matter  to  a  logical  conclusion. 

And  before  long  the  half  dozen  words  began  to 
assume  proportions,  the  possibilities  of  which  set 
his  pulses  to  throbbing  with  a  rapidity  that  caught 
181 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

his  breath.  For,  if  she  knew  it  all  the  time — and 
there  were  her  own  words  for  it — then  she  knew  all 
the  time  that  he  was  Nelson  Thomas,  masquerading 
as  William  Collins — ? 

The  thought  caused  him  a  variety  of  emotions, 
ranging  from  hope  to  deepest  despair.  But 
through  it  all  there  were  pictures — faintly  out 
lined,  then  more  graphic  in  detail — passing  before 
his  mind's  eye  like  a  panorama:  the  old  well  in  the 
orchard:  the  little  white  cottage  emboAvered  in 
green,  with  the  winding  path  leading  to  the  main 
road:  the  walk  along  the  road  to  Sunset  Hill — 
and  the  glowing  skies. 

There  were  more  intimate  memories  of  a  small 
room,  from  the  windows  of  which  he  could  see  the 
.  mottled  sunshine,  that  shone  through  the  leaves  of 
the  swaying,  clustering  vines — and  the  birds,  call 
ing,  chirping,  twittering  with  ecstasy :  and  the 
kitchen,  with  its  clean  white  floor,  the  rows  of  blue 
china  on  the  cupboard  shelves ;  and  the  low  rock 
ing  chair,  beside  an  open  window — the  slender 
branches  of  sweet  peas  were  nodding  their  heads 
just  above  the  sill.  That  was  her  own  corner. 
182 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

These  were  her  everyday  surroundings ;  the  things 
that  she  touched  with  her  hands,  and  brushed  with 
her  garments.  They  encompassed  her :  invested 
her :  belonged  to  her  alone. 

The  air  in  the  cafe  was  hot,  uncomfortable. 
The  red  rugs  on  the  floor,  the  glittering  paint  and 
ornaments,  seemed  to  absorb  and  radiate  the  latent 
heat  of  the  day.  In  the  street  the  long  line  of 
buildings  on  either  side  appeared  to  be  dried, 
baked  to  an  ashy  grayness.  Perspiring  men  and 
women  jostled,  crowded,  and  tried  to  avoid  con 
tact  with  each  other  at  the  same  time.  In  a 
dogged,  erratic  way  they  made  their  way  home 
ward,  in  the  hot  and  dusty  evening 

Nelson  called  a  hansom  at  the  door,  and  drove 
to  his  club.  It  was  necessary  to  consider  certain 
matters  from  a  new  point  of  view — the  position 
into  which  Hilda's  note  had  placed  him.  The  club, 
in  the  summer  time,  was  not  a  cheerful  place  to  be 
in.  The  rugs  had  all  been  removed  from  the 
floors ;  the  furniture  shrouded  in  linen  covers ;  the 
pictures  covered  with  netting;  the  cafe  was  de 
serted;  and  the  incessant  buzzing  of  the  electric 
183 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

fans  only  increased  the  general  feeling  of  unrest 
and  confusion.  Although  contrary  to  the  rules, 
the  windows  of  the  first  floor  were  raised,  to  obtain 
some  relief  from  the  oppressive  heat.  He  drew  a 
chair  close  to  one  of  the  open  windows,  took  the 
note  from  his  pocket,  and  in  the  semi-darkness  he 
tried  to  read  between  the  lines. 

"So  you  knew  it  all  the  time — ?"  he  said,  in  an 
undertone,  as  he  suddenly  sat  up  and  gazed  into 
the  corner  of  the  room. 

One  could  imagine  Hilda  sitting  in  the  low 
chair,  opposite.  Hilda,  with  the  deep  blue  eyes, 
laughing,  mocking.  Hilda  consenting,  yielding. 
Hilda  defiant,  contumacious — that  was  the  mis 
chief  of  it — he  did  not  know  which  Hilda  he  was 
talking  to. 

"You  knew  it  when  I  engaged  the  room — ?"  he 
whispered;  and  the  recollection  made  him  smile. 
"By  the  way — ,"  she  had  asked,  "do  you  know  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Thomas?"  That  was 
Hilda  the  mirthful.  "I  am  so  anxious  to  know 
more  about  him."  He  recalled  her  interested  ex 
pression — her  eagerness.  He  brought  his  clenched 
184 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

hand  down  with  a  thump  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 
"And  you  never  suspected — anything — ?"  Then, 
"What  kind  of  a  man  is  he — ?"  There  was  a 
dainty  morsel,  indeed.  "What  kind  of  a  man  is 
he,  anyhow — ?"  He  repeated  the  question,  half 
aloud,  and  glared  into  the  dark  corner  of  the 
room.  Apparently,  there  was  no  comfort  coming 
from  that  direction.  "He's  so  sure  to  meet  with 
disappointment."  It  came  from  somewhere  in  the 
seclusion  of  his  memory — like  a  warning  premoni 
tion  of  future  events.  He  tried  to  recall  more 
cheerful  recollections.  His  mind  reverted  to  the 
confession  of  love — he  had  described  her,  minutely 
— he  had  made  her  in  the  name  of  his  friend 
Thomas.  And  she  had  gone  away  and  left  him — ! 

That  must  have  been  Hilda  the  defiant,  the  con 
tumacious. 

Again  he  took  the  little  note  from  his  inner 
pocket,  and  read: — "I  knew  it,  all  the  time." 

He  sat  for  sometime,  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
shaded  electrolier,  indolently  gazing  through  the 
open  window  at  the   constant   stream   of  people, 
185 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

passing  to  and  fro,  on  the  street.  Here  was  a 
group  of  shop  girls,  weary,  aching  from  the  con 
finement  of  close,  ill  ventilated  stores,  hurrying 
past  to  homes  that  were  even  more  depressing. 
There  was  a  man — his  eyes  hid  behind  colored 
spectacles — walking  slowly — very  slowly — an  inch 
at  a  time,  in  order  to  keep  moving — lustily  sing 
ing,  "Nearer  my  God  to  Thee;"  while  a  woman 
companion,  her  arm  linked  in  his,  was  jingling  a 
few  pennies  in  a  small  tin  cup. 

There  were  the  masses,  passing  in  review  before 
him.  He  could  see  them,  hear  them — almost  touch 
them,  but — 

I  regret  to  say,  that  this  student  of  Life  paid 
them  scant  attention.  He  did  not  even  notice  the 
increasing  oppressiveness  of  the  air ;  the  dead 
calm,  in  which  not  the  slightest  breath  or  motion 
of  the  heavy  atmosphere  could  be  felt.  He  was 
trying  to  arrive  at  some  conclusion.  At  the  same 
time,  the  air  was  becoming  even  more  heavy,  more 
suffocating,  and,  although  the  streets  were  ablaze 
with  electric  lights,  there  was  a  darker  background 
overhead ;  a  sombre,  unreal  blackness,  that  seemed 
186 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

to  come  closer  to  the  rim  of  artificial  light,  omin 
ous,  threatening. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  clap  of  thunder, 
deafening — following  instantly  a  flash  of  light 
ning,  hardly  noticed  in  the  confusion  of  electric 
lights.  Then  down  the  street  came  a  furious  blast 
of  wind — warm ;  laden  with  the  dust,  whirling  bits 
of  paper,  and  the  dried  debris  of  the  avenue ;  tear 
ing  some  of  the  weather-worn  awnings ;  making 
the  signs  creak  and  swing ;  banging  the  doors ; 
threatening  the  large  plate-glass  windows  of  the 
shops ;  blowing  hats  from  the  heads  of  unwary 
pedestrians,  high  in  the  air;  upsetting,  twisting, 
knocking  about  nearly  everything  that  happened 
to  be  in  its  blinding,  dust-laden,  rubbishy  path. 
Then  came  the  rain. 

Nelson  closed  the  window,  and  stood  watching 
the  storm.  It  was  exciting,  to  see  the  wild  hurry- 
scurry  of  the  street ;  the  frantic  rush  for  shelter ; 
the  numerous  urgent  pursuits  of  errant  hats ;  the 
universal  stampede  of  the  outdoor  population. 
The  rain  came  down  in  pelting,  sweeping  torrents. 
The  thunder  crackled,  and  fulminated  with  terrific 
187 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

detonations.  The  gutters  ran  full  to  the  curb 
with  little  rivers  of  swirling,  dirty  water.  And 
just  at  the  time  when  he  had  finally  decided  that 
he  would  call  on  Hilda,  at  Mrs  Wyse's  apartments 
— on  West  End  Avenue,  above  One  Hundred  and 
Fifteenth  Street. 

"I  will  call  and — and  explain,"  he  had  decided, 
just  as  the  storm  broke.  "I  don't  care  what  any 
body  says — or  thinks.  I  shall  call  on  her,  and 
speak  to  her — speak  to  her.  Do  you  hear  me — ?" 

He  nodded  defiantly,  to  nobody — in  the  corner 
— and  then  he  walked  slowly  upstairs  to  dinner. 

After  dinner  it  was  still  raining,  and  the  storm 
seemed  to  increase  as  the  night  advanced.  "I 
can't  possibly  get  there  to-night,"  Nelson  con 
cluded,  dolefully 

The  following  evening— after  an  interminable 
day — he  stepped  into  a  hansom  with  an  impa 
tience,  an  eager  elasticity,- — elatedly ;  that  was  not 
in  accord  with  his  spirit.  That  craven  part  of  him 
was  suggesting  all  sorts  of  difficulties,  all  manner 
of  discouragements.  He  was  consuming — smok- 
188 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

ing — one  cigarette  after  the  other,  his  faculties 
tense,  whirling  in  anticipation  of  meeting  Hilda. 
And  he  imagined  that  he  could  hear  her  voice: — 

"Try  to  be  yourself—" 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Thomas — ?" 

"What  kind  of  a  man  is  he — ?" 

"I'm  so  anxious  to  know  more  about  him — 

"Poor  man.     He's  so  sure  to  be  disappointed — 

So  sure  to  be  disappointed. 

The  words  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  tolling 
of  a  bell  over  his  departed  hopes,  as  the  hansom 
stopped  in  front  of  a  very  plain,  modest-looking 
building,  in  which  were  Mrs.  Wyse's  apartments. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  go  beyond  the  desk  of 
the  flippant  young  woman,  who  presided  over  the 
office  in  the  first  floor  hall,  to  learn  his  fate. 

"I  can  send  up  your  card  to  Mrs.  Wyse,"  she 
said,  in  answer  to  his  inquiry,  "but  Mrs.  Donald 
and  Miss  Gunther  left  for  Portland  this  after 
noon." 

She  smiled,  flirtingly,  in  his  face  as  she  held  her 
hand  poised  over  the  call  bell.  She  was  evidently 
impressed. 

189 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  stood,  staring  vacantly  into  her  pale  grey 
eyes ;  he  noticed  the  excess  of  powder  on  her  nose ; 
the  artificial  pencilling  of  her  brows ;  the  unnatural 
red  of  her  lips,  and  the  enormity  of  her  expanded 
hair.  There  are  moments  when  the  mind  records 

objects  like  a  sensitized  film 

"No — no,  thank  you — never  mind," 
he  stammered,  as  he  recovered  his  card 

"The  Luxmore — ,"  he  directed  the  driver. 

"Take  your  time — there's  no  hurry." 


190 


VI 


THE  evening  papers  contained  harrowing  details 
of  the  storm  that  had  raged  with  unusual 
fury  all  along  the  Atlantic  coast,  on  the  pre 
vious  night ;  sailing  vessels  had  been  lost,  steamers 
driven  ashore,  seaside  resorts  inundated.  Nelson 
Thomas,  seated  at  a  little  table  in  the  roof-garden 
of  the  Luxmore,  read  the  accounts  carelessly  indif 
ferent.  In  his  mind  the  damage  to  shipping,  and 
to  the  entire  coast  line,  was  of  minor  importance 
when  compared  to  the  thought  that  the  storm  was 
responsible  for  the  delay  that  caused  him  to  miss 
seeing  Hilda.  "If  I  had  only  known  that  she  was 
going — so  soon,"  he  sighed,  "I  would  have  waded 
up  there — storm  or  no  storm." 

He  emptied  the  contents  of  a  miniature  decan 
ter  into  a  large  tumbler,  nearly  filled  with  crushed 
ice;  then  he  filled  the  tumbler  from  a  siphon-bot 
tle.     His  excuse  for  this  unusual  indulgence  must 
191 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

have  been  the  keen  disappointment  under  which  lie 
was  laboring,  for  Nelson  was  not,  in  any  sense  of 
the  term,  a  drinking  man.  In  fact,  the  taste  of 
the  whiskey  recalled,  with  a  ludicrous  association, 
the  last  time  that  he  had  taken  a  drink  with  old 
man  Gunther.  He  could  see  the  captain  fumbling 
around  in  the  old  locker,  in  his  search  for  the  curi 
ous  looking  bottle- — and  the  odor — !  "Phew — !" 
Somehow  there  did  not  seem  to  be  much  difference 
between  the  smell  of  the  brown-colored,  flat  bottle, 
and  the  dainty  little  decanter  within  reach  of  his 
hand.  He  pushed  the  tumbler  from  him  with  a 
disgusted  expression  that  did  not  escape  the  at 
tention  of  the  lynx-eyed  waiter. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  another  blend — ?"  he 
inquired. 

"No — no,  thank  you.  You  may  bring  me  a 
small  pot  of  coffee,"  Nelson  replied.  Then  he  be 
gan  another  study  of  Hilda's  well-worn,  laconic 
note 

"By  thunder — !"  he  exclaimed,  irritably,  "she's 
as  obscure  and  ambiguous  as  the  Delphic  priest 
ess." 

192 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  paid  his  check.  Then  he  began  an  aimless 
walk  around  the  garden.  It  was  beginning  to  fill 
with  men  and  women — coming  from  the  various 
dinner  and  theatre  parties  of  the  can't-get-away 
population  of  the  great  city.  The  men  were  in 
evening  costumes,  and  the  ladies  were  gowned  in 
shimmering  light  creations,  in  which  pink  and 
white  predominated.  A  line  of  electric  lamps,  of 
large  opalescent  globes,  defined  the  edges  of  the 
roof.  Within  these  lamps  were  rows  of  potted 
evergreen  trees,  which  served  as  screens ; — and 
there  were  pergolas  covered  with  growing  vines, 
under  which  were  seats,  and  little  round  tables ; 
and  fountains,  splashing  amid  groups  of  ferns ; 
and  cunningly  contrived  wooden  arches,  and 
structures — of  the  gingerbread  variety — for  the 
modern  Babylonians  to  walk  through ;  to  laugh, 
and  flirt  in ;  to  drink,  and  to  be  merry. 

Nelson  passed  through  the  crowd,  to  the  rear  of 
the  garden.  Here,  where  the  light  from  the  lamps 
was  not  so  glaring,  he  contemplated,  through  an 
opening  in  the  evergreens,  the  marvelous  view  be 
neath  him.  At  his  feet  was  the  city — the  living, 
193 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

dormant, — strange  thing.  Irregular  patches  of 
glimmering  light  in  the  dark  walls  of  the  build 
ings  indicated  the  windows,  behind  which  were  the 
restless  in-door  part  of  the  population.  Long 
stretches  of  dazzling  brilliancy  marked  the  lines 
of  the  streets.  Beyond  the  city  was  the  river — 
gleaming  in  the  rays  of  the  moon  like  a  broad 
band  of  silver.  Dark,  floating  objects,  pierced 
with  innumerable  pin-holes  of  twinkling  light, 
moved  silently  to  and  fro.  Beyond  the  river  was 
another  rim  of  dotted  light,  and  beyond  that  the 
mist  of  the  night  faded  into  the  majesty  of  the 
heavens. 

Nelson  stood  gazing  at  the  mass  of  buildings, 
sombre,  gloomy ;  then  at  the  splendor  of  the  firma 
ment. 

He  was  wrapt  in  silent  meditation. 

Then,  as  he  stood  there  he  was  suddenly  called 
to  the  realities  of  life,  to  the  exigencies  of  the  hour, 
by  hearing  his  assumed  name  called.  Looking 
back,  he  saw  a  bell  boy,  salver  in  hand,  on  v.hich 
was  a  letter.  It  was  a  plain,  cheap-looking  en 
velope,  addressed  in  a  bold,  round  hand,  and  con- 
194 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

spicuously  displayed  in  the  corner  was  the  injunc 
tion:   "Important — deliver  at  once." 

Nelson  took  the  letter,  and  opened  it  with  no 
small  amount  of  curiosity. 
It  began: — 

MR.  WILLIAM  COLLINS. 

Respected  Friend: — 
The  boat  race  will  come  off  in  about 
ten  days.  You  said  that  you  might  like 
to  enter  a  boat,  so  I  write  you  in  time 
to  do  so.  Maybe  you  had  better  come 
down  to  Orr's  Island  and  talk  it  over. 
I  have  a  pretty  able  boat  myself,  but 
Captain  Herbert  Kenneth's  Pearl  is  the 
slickest  thing  that  ever  came  into  this 
harbor.  He's  likely  to  win  out — unless, 
perhaps,  you  have  something  better. 
That's  why  I  write  to  you. 
Your  friend — 

HAGEN  GUNTHER. 

Nelson  looked  again  at  the  envelope,  and  smiled 
at  the  address : — -"William  Collins,  The  Luxmore, 
."     Then  he  put  it  in  his  pocket,  with  the 
195 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

note  from  Hilda.     "If  she  knew  it  all  the  time," 
he  concluded,  "Uncle  Hagen  didn't." 

The  throngs  of  people  were  passing,  and  repass- 
ing — just  as  before.  The  tired  musicians  were 
playing,  "Love  Me  and  the  World  is  Mine,"- 
in  response  to  the  third  clamorous  encore  from 
the  noisy  parties  at  the  small  round  tables.  The 
men  were  just  as  boisterous,  the  women  as  artifi 
cial.  But  the  letter  from  Orr's  Island  had  changed 
the  whole  thing  for  Nelson.  They  all  seemed  to 
be  more  friendly — more  human.  He  passed  them, 
on  his  way  to  the  elevator,  with  a  smile  on  his  face 
that  some  of  the  pink  and  white  habitues  of  the 
garden  accepted  as  personal  attentions — and 
smiled  back.  In  his  heart  was  courage,  hope,  a 
confident  to-morrow. 

"Bully,  old  Captain  Hagen — ,"  he  muttered,  ex 
ultantly.  "We'll  make  Herbert  Kenneth  think 
that  his  boat  is  going  backwards — !" 


196 


VII 


(~^  HARLIE  LIGHTHALL  was  not  a  bad  sort  of 
^  a  man.  His  progress  thus  far,  down  life's 
mighty  river,  had  not  been  marked  by  any 
serious  accident,  or  by  any  of  the  calamities  that 
seem  to  beset  the  man  of  action.  Figuratively,  he 
sat  quietly  in  the  middle  of  his  pleasure  boat, 
and  allowed  the  current  to  carry  him  where  it  ran. 
It  usually  ran  around  all  the  rocks,  and  carried 
his  boat  with  it.  He  had  never  been  obliged  to 
get  out  and  push.  To  be  sure,  he  was  alone  in  his 
little  boat;  and  sometimes  he  felt  like  jumping 
overboard — even  at  the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck 
— from  mere  loneliness.  That  was  when  he  saw  the 
mermaids  beckoning  to  him  from  the  rocks.  Now, 
without  any  propulsion  from  him,  his  boat  was 
out  of  the  current,  and  was  wildly  careening 
in  troubled  waters.  What  was  the  matter  with 
him?  What  had  happened  to  cause  such  a  com- 
197 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

motion  in  his  usually  uneventful  life?  He  had 
come  to  the  club,  much  perplexed  in  mind,  to  think 
the  thing  to  a  conclusion.  But  the  thing  refused 
to  be  concluded.  It  stayed  with  him,  clung  to 
him,  possessed  him,  with  a  tenacity  of  purpose  that 
seemed  to  make  his  past,  aimless  existence  a  mere 
shell,  a  bauble  that  had  been  suddenly  broken  at 
the  touch  of  a  finger.  "By — Jove — !  It's  ridic 
ulous.  Here,  waiter —  He  touched  the  small  call 
bell  on  the  table  in  front  of  him.  "Bring  me  a 
ricky — and  a  mild  Vencedora." 

He  lit  the  cigar,  and  emitted  circling  rings  of 
smoke  between  each  sentence. 

"What  ever  possessed  you,  anyhow — ?" 

"What  kind  of  an  old  fossil  rhabdosteus  are  you, 
anyway — ?" 

"Why  in  the  dickens  did  you  go  on  that  infernal 
yacht — ?" 

"Why  didn't  you  let  well  enough  alone — ?" 

"Now,  how  do  you  feel — ?" 

Then  he  would  relapse  into  profound  reflection, 
and  go  over  in  his  mind  all  the  circumstances  lead 
ing  up  to  the  moment  when  he  had  asked  Miss 
198 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Conrad  a  most  embarrassing  question.  A  proposal 
which  she  had  received  decorously ;  in  fact,  with 
the  greatest  propriety  of  conduct.  He  recalled 
how  she  had  been  seated — faultlessly  gowned,  her 
gloved  hands  at  the  proper  angle,  her  head  slightly 
inclined,  in  a  listening  attitude,  her  eyes  downcast, 
modestly.  He  remembered  that  he  was  seated  all 
of  a  dozen  feet  away  from  her — as  he  should  have 
been— and  how  fearful  he  was  lest  she  should  jump 
up  and  embrace  him,  or  do  something  equally  fool 
ish — you  know.  One  never  can  tell  how  a  girl  will 
act  under  such  circumstances.  How,  instead,  she 
had  not  exhibited  any  emotion  whatever,  but  had 
lowered  her  head  a  little  more,  so  that  her  hat  cov 
ered  her  eyes,  and — that  was  all.  That  was  all, 
but — confound  it — !  What  was  he  to  do  now — ? 
This  beautiful,  unapproachable  woman  would 
never  come  any  closer.  He  never  could  get  her 
into  a  corner.  Ever  since  that  fateful  day  on  the 
yacht  he  had  just  trailed  along  after  her,  like  a — 
like  a  poodle — Yes,  by  Jove — !  like  a  poodle !  He 
pushed  back  his  chair  angrily,  and  glared  up  into 
the  beaming  face  of — Nelson  Thomas. 
199 


I3RUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  latter  dropped  into  the  chair,  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  table. 

"Why,  Lighthall — old  man,  what's  the  matter?" 
he  exclaimed.  "You  look  all  obfuscated." 

He  touched  the  call  bell.  "Let  me  get  you  an 
old-fashioned  Martini — finest  thing  in  the  world 
for  that  tired  feeling — irrigates  the  barren  regions 
of  the  brain — 

He  rang  again,  and  the  waiter  approached. 

"Send  the  head  waiter  here — " 

The  man  disappeared. 

"Only  man  in  the  club  who  knows  how  to  make 
it — ,"  he  explained.  "Now — what's  the  trouble 
with  Charles  Lyndhurst  Lighthall?" 

"Oh — nothing  much,"  said  the  other  wearily. 
He  puffed  vigorously  at  his  cigar.  Then  a 
thought  seemed  to  strike  him.  "You  don't  know 
where  I  could  buy  a  thrashing  machine — ?"  he 
inquired. 

"A  what—?" 

"Something  that  could  lick  a  man  into  shape 
who  didn't  know  when  he  was  well  off,"  he  added, 
gloomily. 

200 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Nelson  looked  him  over  with  the  manner  of  a 
skilled  diagnostician. 

"That  sounds  like  remorse — and  you  engaged," 
he  said,  reproachfully. 

"Engaged, — nothing — ,"  blurted  Lighthall. 

Nelson's  conscience  smote  him  as  he  scanned  his 
companion's  perturbed  countenance.  He  thought 
of  his  virtuous  advice  to  Anne  Conrad  that  night 
on  the  tea  terrace.  And  he  wondered  whether  he 
had  not  been  a  trifle  unjust  to — Lighthall. 

"But  you  told  me — ,"  he  began. 

"Well— forget  it—,"  snapped  Lighthall.  "I 
must  have  been  drunk,  or  crazy — on  that  blamed 
yacht  of  yours,  to  run  my  neck  into  any  such 
noose." 

"Oh — you've  had  a  lover's  quarrel,"  said  Nel 
son,  soothingly.  He  was  trying  to  think  of  some 
way  by  which  he  could  recall  that  good  advice  to 
Anne — for  which  he  now  felt  somewhat  ashamed. 
"After  you're  married — 

"Married — !"     interrupted     Lighthall.      "Now 
listen,  Nelson.      I  am  not  going  to  marry   Miss 
Conrad,  if  I  can  avoid  it — honorably." 
201 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

A  glimmer  of  light  was  beginning  to  dawn  in 
the  mind  of  Nelson. 

"Then  you  have  changed  your  plans- — ?"  he 
hazarded.  "How  about  the  other  party — how 
about  Anne — ?" 

"That's  all  that's  worrying  me,"  said  Lighthall, 
bluntly.  "At  the  risk  of  being  thought  a  conceited 
ass,  do  you  think  that  she  would  care — very  much 
if — if — well,  if  it  could  be  arranged  otherwise?" 

Nelson  rubbed  his  chin,  thoughtfully.  He  felt 
much  relief  in  the  turn  of  affairs  that  exonerated 
him  from  the  consequences  of — as  he  imagined — 
his  advice  to  Anne. 

"I  don't  know  just  how  much  her  feelings  are 
involved,"  he  mused. 

"Oh — hang  her  feelings — !"  exclaimed  Light- 
hall,  desperately.  "I  never  was  really  engaged, 
you  know,"  he  added,  hopefully. 

"Oh — then  you  were  never  really  engaged." 

"I — er — suggested,  that  is,  proposed  marriage 
to   Miss   Conrad.      .      .      But   she — er — she   never 
seemed  to  take  me  seriously,"  complained  Light- 
hall.     "She  never  answered  me." 
202 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Smart  girl — Anne,"  remarked  Nelson,  ab 
sently.  "There  may  be  more  intelligent  young 
women  than  Anne, — but  I  haven't  seen  them." 

"Oh  —  she's  intelligent  enough,"  Lighthall 
agreed.  "It  isn't  Anne — it's  me." 

"Yes—?" 

"I  should  have  known  better  than  to  get  into 
such  a  hole,"  he  asseverated. 

"Perhaps  you  exaggerate  the  difficulty,"  said 
Nelson,  consolingly.  "As  you  say,  she  may  never 
take  you  seriously." 

"But  suppose  she  does — ?"  suggested  Lighthall. 
"Really,  Nelson,  I  don't  believe  that  I  care  much 
about  marrying.  This  experience  with  Miss  Con 
rad  has  sort  of  cured  me  of  the  notion." 

"Anne — is  a  very  superior  woman,"  said  Nelson, 
dreamily.  "She  reasons  well — oh,  I've  known 
Anne  since  she  was  so  high."  He  held  a  hand, 
outstretched  about  three  feet  from  the  floor. 
"You  can  just  leave  it  to  her,"  he  added,  confi 
dently. 

"I  suppose  that  would  be  best,"  assented  Light- 
hall,  with  unsettled  vagueness. 
203 


VIII 

HILDA  received  Nelson's  letter,  written  to  her 
from  the  Oaks,  with  a  fluttering  nervous 
ness  that  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  Mrs. 
Wyse.  But  that  delightful  woman — putting  two 
and  two  together — did  not  comment  on  the  pearl 
gray  envelope,  stamped  with  a  seal  in  wax,  and 
addressed  in  a  remarkably  bold  masculine  hand. 
She  simply  called  her  daughter  Grace's  attention 
to  some  details  of  housekeeping  that  would  require 
their  presence  in  the  kitchen.  And  Hilda  was  left 
alone  in  her  bedroom. 

For  some  few  moments  after  they  had  left  her 
Hilda  sat  still,  the  unopened  letter  in  her  hand, 
and  her  eyes  fixed  in  a  fit  of  retrospection.  Then 
she  rose  and  looked  at  her  reflection  in  the  broad 
mirror  over  the  chiffonier.  It  was  well  worth  her 
attention.  There  were  two  dark  blue  eyes,  gleam 
ing  at  her  with  a  furtive  look  in  them  that  made 
204 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

her  uneasy.  And  her  cheeks  were  red — a  flaming 
red.  She  turned  from  the  mirror  with  an  impatient 
stamp  of  her  foot.  Through  the  open  window 
the  view  was  through  a  narrow  alley?  between 
tall  houses.  At  the  end  of  the  alley  was  a  sec 
tion  of  the  North  River ;  and  on  this  square  bit 
of  blue  moved  back  and  forth  the  various  river 
craft — as  seen  in  moving  picture  exhibitions.  But 
I  doubt  if  Hilda  saw  any  of  the  pictures.  Her 
eyes  were  on  the  blue  sky.  Perhaps  the  letter,  un 
opened  in  her  hand,  recalled  a  beautiful  yacht 
steaming  slowly  to  the  North — in  Portland  har 
bor.  It  may  be  that  she  saw  a  bronzed  face,  in 
which  was  set  a  pair  of  honest  brown  eyes,  gazing 
down  at  her  from  over  the  hand  rail.  Possibly 
she  imagined  that  she  felt  the  grasp  of  a  strong 
hand — a  firmer  grasp,  perhaps,  than  was  really 
necessary — that  had  lifted  her  up  the  ladder  and 
onto  the  deck  of  the  Phyllis.  And  the  supper — ? 
How  hard  she  had  tried  to  appear  indifferent  to 
his  advances !  And  his  very  evident  displeasure. 
There  may  have  been  a  memory  of  certain  con 
versations,  in  the  tangle  of  which  came  vividly: — 
205 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  want  to  be  happier — ,"  he  said.  "How  shall 
I  try—?" 

"Gets  an  idea  into  his  head — then  he  forgets 
everything  else — 

"Ignores  everybody  ....  until  he  gets 
what  he  wants — 

"And  you  said — that  he  was  sure  to  be  disap 
pointed — 

She  turned  quickly,  abruptly  to  the  mirror. 
"Did  I  say  that — ?"  she  asked  her  reflection — 
aloud.  The  blushing  face  looked  half  ashamed. 

"There  is  one  woman  whose  indifference  is  caus 
ing  him  the  greatest  sorrow  of  his  life —  The 
lovely  face  looked  almost  sad.  No  doubt  she  re 
called  his  plea: — 

"Miss  Gunther— Hilda — surely  you  know — ?" 
Was     there    anything     Delphian — 
anything  ambiguous   in   the   answer  she  hastened 
to  write  to  Nelson — the  little  note  that  he  kept  in 
his  pocket,  close  to  his  heart- — ? 
"I  knew  it  all  the  time." 


206 


IX 


BAR  HARBOR  was   putting  up  the   shutters, 
and   counting  the   receipts  of  an  unusually 
good  season.     Vanity  Fair  had  opened  early, 
and  closed  late.      The  numerous  pleasure-seekers, 
coming  with  plethoric  purses  early  in  the  summer, 
had  left  a  generous  portion  of  their  money  before 
their  departure  in  September,  and  a  golden  after 
glow  seemed  to  permeate  the  place. 

In  the  harbor  the  numerous  yachts  had,  one  by 
one,  drifted  into  the  Southern  current — into  the 
stream  of  departing  guests.  On  board  the  yacht 
Phyllis — riding  lazily  at  anchor — there  was  mani 
fest  a  spirit  of  inactivcness  amounting  to  torpidity. 
The  mate,  the  engineer,  and  the  fireman  had 
played  so  many  games  of  poker,  and  with  so  many 
turns  of  fortune,  that  it  was  a  matter  of  much 
uncertainty  as  to  whom  belonged  their  wages  at 
the  approaching  pay-day-  Judging  from  appear- 
207 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

ances,  the  fireman  had  experienced  more  than  his 
share  of  bad  luck;  for  his  face  wore  an  expression 
of  absolute  indifference  to  his  surroundings,  that 
was  in  marked  contrast  to  the  lively  interest  in 
things  that  distinguished  the  actions  of  the  engi 
neer.  The  latter  was  gazing  into  the  hazy  calm 
of  the  September  afternoon,  apparently  oblivious 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  dealing  the  long-suffering 
fireman  a  poker  hand  of  more  than  ordinary  bar 
renness — it  made  Jake  groan  aloud — when  he  re 
marked:  "I  wonder  where  we  are  going  next — ?" 

"T'  hell — !"  said  Jake,  explosively,  as  he  vainly 
searched  his  hand  for  even  one  little  "pair" — and 
they  all  laughed. 

"  'Tain't  as  bad  as  that,"  said  the  mate,  who  put 
up  his  "ante"  with  each  deal,  but  never  risked  a 
bet.  "There's  something  in  the  wind  all  right — 
and  the  wind  is  blowing  South."  He  spoke  with 
his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  all  the  while  gazing 
fixedly  at  his  cards.  His  manner  indicated  that 
he  could  tell  more  if  he  chose,  but  that  he  was  not 
going  tp  be  hurried. 

"It's  me  for  New  York,"  said  Jake — "that's  as 
208 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

far  South  as  I  go."  The  mate  looked  at  him 
scornfully.  "City  rat — that's  what  you  are." 
Then  he  added  mysteriously — "suppose  now  it  was 
Havana, — or  Porto  Rico?" 

"And  get  blowed  up — like  the  Maine — !"  re 
torted  Jake.  "They  say  them  Japanese  are  reg 
ular  devils — no,  sir-e-e." 

"Japanese — ?"  The  mate  could  not  express  his 
mean  opinion  of  the  fireman's  geography.  So  he 
just  bit  harder  on  the  stem  of  his  pipe,  and  kept 
a  lookout  for  Captain  Botts.  There  were  certain 
indications  that  the  owner  was  expected  aboard 
before  many  moons,  and  it  behooved  them  to  be 
ready.  The  steward  was  responsible  for  the  infor 
mation  that  the  captain  had  received  a  telegram 
from  New  York,  before  he  had  gone  ashore. 

So,  in  a  measure,  they  were  prepared  for  a 
peculiar  low  whistle,  that  came  from  a  hand,  who 
was  stowed  away  on  the  upper  deck. 

"That's  him — ,"   said  the   mate,   sententiously. 

"Chuck  it— and  git—!" 

There  was  a  hasty  settling  of  accounts  with  Joe, 
the  engineer — and  banker.  A  rapid  sweeping  up 
209 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

of  the  chips.  A  quick  resumption  of  coats,  collars, 
and  caps  and  everything  was  in  order  as  the  launch 
containing  the  owner  and  captain  came  along 
side 

An  hour  later  Nelson  and  the  captain  were  talk 
ing  things  over  in  the  cabin. 

"That's  a  good  hard-working  crew — ,"  said  the 
former,  commendinglj. 

"Well — the're — not  so  good  that  it  hurts,"  com 
mented  the  captain.  "Off  and  on,  the're  'bout  an 
average."  He  slapped  a  persistent  mosquito  into 
sudden  death- — and  began  to  fill  his  pipe. 

"How  would  they  do  for  a  Southern  cruise — 
later  on?"  Nelson  inquired. 

"Oh — they'd  be  all  right — all  except  Jake,  the 
fireman." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"Well,  he  has  a  sweetheart  in  New  York,  and 
the're  always  writing  back  and  forth.  He  never 
goes  more  than  one  cruise —  The  old  skipper 
pulled  a  sulphurous  match  across  the  leg  of  his 
trousers,  and  screwed  up  his  face  as  the  fumes 
filled  his  eyes  and  nostrils.  "I  doubt  if  you  could 
210 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

get  him  past  New  York  harbor  without  desert 
ing — he'd  try  to  swim  ashore." 

Nelson,  leaning  back  on  the  leather  cushions, 
suddenly  felt  a  warm  sympathy  for  the  long,  lean 
white-faced  individual,  who,  heretofore,  had  been 
to  him  nothing  more  than  a  sort  of  automatic 
stoker — something  that  worked  along  with  the  rest 
of  the  machinery — and  stopping  when  the  engineer 
shut  off  steam.  Jake,  with  a  sweetheart — ?  Jake 
risking  his  life  to  be  with  her — to  see  her — ! 

"I'll  see  Jake  about  that  myself,"  he  said  to  the 
captain.  Then  suddenly  : — 

"What  kind  of  boats  do  they  have  down  at  Orr's 
Island?"  he  questioned. 

"Boats — !"  The  honest  skipper  held  his  pipe 
in  suspension,  his  mouth  open.  What  was  this 
erratic  owner  of  his  driving  at  now — ?  "Boats — ? 
Well,  most  every  kind,  from  a  catboat  to  Ken 
neth's  Pearl." 

"That's  the  one,"  Nelson  explained.     "Do  you 

know  of  any  boat  of  its  class  that  could  beat  her 

— in  a  race?"     He  sat  up  and  tapped  impatiently 

with  his  knuckles  on  the  wooden  arm  of  his  chair. 

211 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  captain  was  not  very  quick  in  his  mental 
process ;  but,  when  an  idea  came  along  pushing 
everything  before  it,  crowding  out  every  other 
thought,  he  managed  to  see  it — and  sometimes  to 
grasp  it.  He  smiled  at  the  marked  anxiety  in 
Nelson's  action.  "There's  plenty  in  her  class  that 
could  beat  the  Pearl,"  he  affirmed,  resuming  his 
gravity.  "There  was  one  here,  a  week  ago — a 

thirty-foot — designed  by  Herreshoff 

If  she  was  handled  right —  He  gazed  thought 
fully  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  "In  my  opinion 
it's  the  man  who  handles  the  boat,  more  than  the 
craft  itself—  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  hard  at  Nelson.  "Had  you  thought  of 
sailing  her  yourself — ?" 

"That's  my  intention,"  asserted  Nelson, 
promptly. 

"I  thought  as  much — ,"  nodded  the  skipper, 
approvingly.  He  had  grasped  the  idea,  and  had 
taken  firm  hold  of  it.  "She  was  built  for  a  racer, 
and  defeated  some  smart  boats,  when  her  owner 
thought  that  she  was  too  good  for  that  work — 

"Too  good  for  racing — ?"  interrupted  Nelson. 
212 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Well — you  see,  the  Irene  is  equally  good  in  a 
breeze  of  six  or  twenty-six  miles — it's  all  the  same 
to  her,"  explained  the  captain.  "And  the  owner 
just  nat'cherly  kept  her  for  his  own  use." 

"Seems  to  me  that's  the  kind  we  want,"  ap 
proved  Nelson.  "A  good  able  boat  that  will  come 
handy  for  any  kind  of  service.  Is  she  for  sale — ?" 
Down  somewhere,  in  the  inner  recesses  of  his  heart, 
a  thought  was  causing  it  to  expand  with  a  sudden 
access  of  joy, — how  Uncle  Hagen  would  like  to 
own  a  boat  like  that. 

"He  might  sell  her — so  he  told  the  mate,  if  he 
gets  his  price,"  answered  the  captain. 

"Where  is  she  now — ?"  asked  Nelson,  as  he 
nervously  took  out  his  watch.  The  trifling  matter 
of  buying  a  thirty-foot  yacht  might  be  done  before 
dinner. 

"She  left  here  for  New  York — she's  about 
reached  there  now,"  calculated  the  captain — on 
his  fingers. 

Again  Nelson  consulted  his  timepiece. 

For  a  brief  moment  he  sat  in  a  nerveless  state 
of  indecision.  It  seemed  to  be  so  utterly  foolish, 
213 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

so  extraordinary.  He  imagined  that  his  wiser  self 
was  laughing  at  him,  jeeringly.  Was  asking  him 
why  he  did  not  go  straight  to  her — by  the  next 
train,  and  demand — yes,  demand  her  answer  to  his 
proposal.  Just  insist — she's  sure  to — to —  Then 
his  wiser  self  faded  away,  and  the  deep  blue  eyes 
were  looking  into  his,  mocking,  defiant. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  meet  the  captain's. 

"How  soon  could  we  get  under  way — ?"  he 
asked 

There  was  no  question  that  the  old  man  felt 
prouder  of  answering.  He  was  in  a  continual 
state  of  preparedness. 

"In  half  an  hour — if  you  wish." 

"All  right — ,"  assented  Nelson,  cheerfully, 
"we'll  start  for  New  York  as  soon  as  you  are 
ready."  .... 

Jake,  the  fireman,  received  the  news  by  wireless 
telegraphy — and  the  way  that  he  coaxed  that  fire 
into  a  sudden  white  heat  was  a  wonder.  And  all 
the  time  that  he  was  shoveling,  and  sweeping,  and 
watching  the  steam  gauge,  he  was  humming:  "I 
on-ly  know  I  love  you —  '  out  of  tune,  and  off 
214 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  key- — until  he  happened  to  glance  up  and  saw 
the  owner  looking  at  him. 

He  was  holding  something  in  his  outstretched 
hand,  and  beckoned  Jake  to  come  to  the  window. 
"Give  her  that—  "  he  said,  in  an  undertone,  "when 
we  get  to  New  York." 

Jake,  wondering,  took  the  little  brown  envelope 
between  the  tips  of  a  black  thumb  and  finger. 
Then  he  opened  the  sealed  flap  and  counted — in 
brand  new  bills — well — he  counted  considerably 
more  than  his  pay. 


215 


PART  FOURTH. 


"O  EHOLD,  Nelson  again  on  board  of  the  little 
JL)  steamer  Aucocisco,  en  route  for  Orr's  Island. 
A  peculiar  man,  and  one  who,  having  made 
up  his  mind  what  he  wants,  will  never  give  up  try 
ing  until  he  gets  it.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  on 
one  subject:  that  he  loved  Hilda  with  every  desire 
that  was  in  him.  She  was  a  blessing — a  benedic 
tion.  Her  sudden  appearance  into  his  life  had 
given  him  grace  and  virtue — a  new  life  in  which 
her  spirit  murmured  in  his  ears,  in  which  the 
witchery  of  her  presence  was  ever  before  his  eyes. 

The  old  life  was  barren,  fruitless.  It  now 
seemed  to  him  to  have  been  without  aim  or  ambi 
tion.  A  tiresome  existence  of  fuss  and  feathers,  of 
tinsel  and  gilding — frayed  and  somewhat  soiled. 

From  now  on  he  was  possessed  of  but  one  idea: 
to  be  with  her,  to  love  her,  to  win  her  if  he  could, 
but — to  love  her  forever.  And  all  this  had  come 
219 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

to  him  in  so  short  a  time  that  he  smiled  at  the 
recollection.  "But  it  is  not  the  love  of  days  and 
weeks,"  he  reflected.  "My  heart  has  been  crying 
for  her  all  these  years.  My  soul  has  prayed  for 
her  from  the  beginning.  Now  I  know — now  I 
know—"  .... 

He  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  place — he  tried  to 
imagine  that  it  was  the  identical  spot — where  he 
had  sat  on  his  first  trip  to  the  island.  Then  he 
lighted  his  pipe  and  surveyed  the  surroundings, 
and  the  few  passengers  who  were  coming  aboard. 
He  was  not  impatient,  or  restless.  His  life  was 
ahead  of  him — his  new  life — and  he  was  surprised 
to  find  that  the  boat  had  left  her  moorings  and  was 
backing  out  slowly  into  the  harbor 

There  was  a  snap  of  cold  in  the  air  that  be 
tokened  the  advent  of  autumn.  The  sea  was  rest 
lessly  tossing  and  splashing  around  the  bow  of  the 
steamer,  under  the  disturbing  influence  of  an  ad 
verse  wind  and  tide.  As  the  boat  advanced  into 
the  more  open  sea — emerging  from  the  shelter  of 
the  harbor — the  wind  blew  strong  and  cold.  The 
little  group  of  passengers  hurried  to  the  protec- 
220 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

tion  of  the  cabin,  leaving  Nelson  alone  on  the  deck. 
He  buttoned  his  overcoat  more  closely  under  his 
chin  and  walked  forward  to  the  bow,  where  he 
could  more  thoroughly  enjoy  the  keen,  rough 
breeze  and  the  tumultuous  waves.  He  might  have 
been  alone  on  the  vessel.  No  summer  boarders 
now  joined  their  laughter  with  the  rippling  of  the 
summer  seas.  They  had  all  departed,  like  birds  of 
passage,  for  the  Southland.  Only  those  islanders 
whose  necessities  required  them  to  make  the  trip 
were  aboard  the  Aucocisco,  and  these  were  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  cabin.  There  was  no  music ;  no 
dreamy  waltzes  in  the  air ;  no  sound  save  the  sharp 
whistling  of  the  wind  across  the  bare  decks  and 

projecting  upper  works  of  the  steamer 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  paced  up  and 
down  the  deck  with  a  quickened  stride.  Things, 
somehow,  were  standing  forth — sharp,  distinct. 
The  sea  had  a  sinister,  a  darker  hue.  The  blue  and 
gold  of  the  skies  had  given  way  to  the  white  and 
gray.  "This  is  the  season  of  early  fall,"  he  said 
to  himself,  thoughtfully.  "What  becomes  of  these 
islanders  in  the  winter — ?" 
221 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

A  vision  of  storms  and  terrible  cold ;  of  blinding 
sleet  and  hail ;  of  tempestuous  gales  whirling  in 
wild  fury  across  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  islands 
against  the  frail  wooden  walls  of  a  little  white  cot 
tage  at  the  end  of  a  lane.  He  imagined  that 
he  could  see  Hilda,  cowering,  sinking  with  fear 
into  her  chair  by  the  window,  as  the  fierce  storm 
rattled  the  light  sashes.  And  only  Uncle  Hagen 
to  protect  her.  "By  Jove — !  she  must  feel — 

lonely,"  he  said,  compassionately He 

went  over  and  stood  under  the  lee  of  the  funnel, 
as  a  protection  from  the  increasing  cold.  A  chill 
was  creeping  over  him,  and  he  had  a  feeling  that 
if  he  relaxed  the  grip  of  his  jaw  his  teeth  would 
chatter — then  he  sought  the  warmth  of  the  cabin, 
and  found  himself  admiring  the  good  sense  of  the 
islanders,  who  had  gone  there  first,  and  who  had 
secured  the  best  seats.  When  the  boat  arrived  at 
Orr's  Island  it  was  quite  dark.  Nelson,  loitering 
in  the  rear,  saw  the  few  passengers  disappear  into 
the  night — at  about  the  same  moment  of  his  dis 
covery  that  the  hotel  at  the  landing  had  evi 
dently  been  closed  for  the  season.  Impatiently  he 
222 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

pounded  and  rattled  the  doors,  and  then,  forming 
a  sudden  resolution,  he  went  back  to  the  boat.  He 
had  decided  to  return  to  Portland,  and  then  to 
come  back  in  the  morning.  But  the  influence  that 
controlled  him,  having  landed  him  safely  on  Orr's 
Island,  seemed  loath  to  have  him  depart.  The 
Aucocisco  had  made  her  last  trip  for  the  day.  To 
make  matters  more  disagreeable,  a  drizzling  rain 
and  fog  had  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  cold  east 
wind,  and  the  clouds  had  settled  in  a  dense  black 
ness  that  was  most  depressing.  As  he  stood,  damp 
and  shivering,  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  he  could 
hear  the  monotonous  lapping  of  the  sea,  as  it 
rushed  in  and  out  among  the  stones  of  the  beach. 
Behind  him  rose  the  island,  dark  and  gloomy.  In 
stinctively,  he  turned  his  steps  towards  the  nearest 
light — a  twinkling  ray  from  the  window  of  a  near 
by  cottage.  His  hand  was  on  the  gate  of  the  low 
fence  in  front  of  the  house,  when  his  mood 
changed.  "No — I'm  going  back  to  my  old  room, 
in  Captain  Gunther's  cottage,"  he  muttered. 
"Rath-er  unconventional — that's  a  fact, — but — 
well,  somehow —  .... 
223 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  faced  the  misty  rain,  the  enveloping  fog,  and 
tramped  sturdily  along  the  road  to  Hagen  Gun- 
ther's  cottage.  The  darkness  was  so  dense  that  he 
kept  to  the  road  more  by  instinct  than  vision. 
Occasionally  his  foot  scraped  sharply  along  a  pro 
jecting  stone ;  then  he  would  suddenly  step  into  a 
pool  of  mud,  or  spongy  moss.  Several  times  he 
wandered  off  the  road,  and  found  himself  plunging 
into  gulleys,  or  running  against  the  low  hanging 
branches  of  trees.  Once  his  courage  failed  him, 
and  he  half  resolved  to  sit  down  somewhere  and 
wait  until  morning.  Altogether  he  was  in  a  half 
ludicrous  and  altogether  uncomfortable  situation. 
How  his  club  friends  would  laugh  if  they  knew  of 
his  predicament — ?  Or  Anne — ?  Anne,  with  her 
fine  sarcasm,  and  her  keen  sense  of  humor.  "Never 
theless,"  he  protested,  after  another  hour  of 
stumbling  along  the  main  road,  "I  propose  to  get 
there,  if  it  takes  all  night." 

Was  it  the  main  road — ? 

He  had  a  dim  foreboding  that  somewhere  he  had 
deviated  from  the  highway,  and  that  things  were 
less  familiar. 

224 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Was  that  the  sea — ? 

The  sound  was  surely  growing  fainter,  more 
distant.  He  stood  still  and  listened.  The  silence 
was  so  profound,  so  intense,  that  he  could  hear  the 
circulation  of  his  blood  ringing  in  his  ears.  So 
far  as  any  signs  of  human  habitation  went,  he  was 
alone  on  the  island 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  turn  back ;  to 
stop  at  the  first  house  he  came  to,  and  to  ask  for 
a  night's  lodging.  But  when  he  faced  around 
there  was  no  light  to  be  seen.  Only  darkness,  im 
penetrable. 

Again  he  thought  that  he  heard  the  sea ;  but  it 
was  only  the  sound  of  the  water — trickling  from 
the  overburdened  trees. 

His  exertions  had  warmed  him ;  had  started  his 
circulation  so  that  he  was  no  longer  chilly.  He 
felt  for  his  pipe,  and  soon  had  a  glowing  nose 
warmer,  that  solaced  his  perturbed  spirit. 

"I'm  here,  anyway — ,"  he  said,  philosophically, 
as  he  sat  down  on  a  boulder.  "I  might  have  fallen 
off  the  island."  .... 

Haying  exhausted  his  resources,  and  having 
225 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

resigned  himself  to  a  condition  of  moralizing  in 
activity,  the  inevitable  happened — and  the  fog 
moved  out  to  sea. 

In  a  few  moments  a  white  glow  appeared,  grow 
ing  brighter  and  more  distinct;  and  a  few  stars. 
Then  came  the  full  silvery  light  of  the  moon. 

Nelson  arose  and  beheld  with  astonishment  the 
marvelous  change  in  his  surroundings.  The  sky 
was  ablaze  with  light,  and  the  stars  seemed  like 
great  jewels,  set  in  an  overhanging  dome.  Be 
neath  his  feet,  stretching  like  a  carpet  covered 
with  glittering  crystals,  the  grass-grown  hillside 
fell  abruptly  to  the  edge  of  the  bay.  A  bay  that 
was  shimmering  and  reflecting  the  heavens  like  a 
mirror.  A  bay  with  a  mysterious  island  edging  its 
outer  circumference.  It  might  have  been  Alcina's 
Isle.  And  each  dark  tree  standing  silently  in  the 
night  may  have  been  her  lovers,  silenced  into  ever 
lasting  repose  by  her  enchantments. 

He  turned,   and  behold — !   there  was   a  broad 

expanse  of  pine-covered  hill,  and  vale:  and  a  vista 

of  sheltered  coves,  indenting  the  shores.    And  wide 

reaches  of  water,  shining  in  the  moon's  rays  like 

226 


BRUNHILTDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

molten  silver:  within  an  encircling  blue  horizon. 
And  white  caps,  leaping,  dancing.  And  there, 
afar  off,  was  the  light-house,  that  flashed  and  was 
dark,  flashed  and  was  dark  again. 

Impulsively  he  retraced  his  path  up  the  hill 
and  regained  the  main  road.  There,  not  more 
than  half  a  mile  away,  he  could  plainly  see  Hagen 
Gunther's  cottage.  In  the  window  a  cheerful, 
steady  light  shone  like  a  beacon. 

Nelson,  the  peculiar — the  singular  young  man, 
stood  for  quite  a  long  time  peering  into  the  night 
towards  the  cottage. 

Then  he  refilled  his  pipe;  went  back  to  his 
boulder  on  the  hillside,  and  sat  for  sometime  gaz 
ing  at  the  moon 

Perhaps  he  was  comparing  himself  to  a  certain 
Astolpho — son  of  Otho — who  was  carried  on  the 
back  of  a  whale  to  Alcina's  Isle,  and  who  was  turned 
into  a  myrtle  by  Alcina — when  she  tired  of  him. 
He  might  have  been  wondering  whether  Melissa — 
in  the  form  of  Anne — would  take  the  trouble  to 
disenchant  him.  Or,  perhaps  like  Astolpho,  he 
could  see  in  the  moon  the  wasted  hours  of  his  life ; 
227 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  broken  vows  and  resolutions ;  the  fruitless 
efforts ;  his  good  intentions,  prayers  and  tears.  It 
may  be  that  Selcney  the  full  moon,  forgets  these 
things  when  she  kisses  Endymion,  the  sunset.  Pos 
sibly — being  in  love — she  hides  these  wasted  things 
of  earth  when  she  kisses  Endymion  during  the 
night  on  Sunset  Hill. 


228 


II 


UT  .1  HAT  are  you  reading— Hilda?" 

VV  Captain  Gunthcr  laid  down  his  paper, 

and  looked  over  his  spectacles  at  the 
wealth  of  bronze  hair  that  was  shining  like  gold 
under  the  shaded  evening  lamp.  Her  head  bent 
low  over  a  book  that  was  open  in  her  lap.  She 
took  it  up  carelessly  and  examined  its  cover,  as 
though  she  had  forgotten  the  title.  "This — ?" 
She  looked  at  it  more  closely.  "It's  called  Creative 
Crudities." 

"Oh —  '  The  old  man  looked  wise,  as  was  his 
habit  whenever  he  attempted  to  keep  the  pace  with 
his  educated  niece.  "Who's  it  by — ?"  he  ventured, 
casually. 

"Who's  it  by—  •"  she  repeated,  dreamily. 

Again  she  raised  the  book  to  her  face  and  care 
fully  scanned  the  cover.  "It's  by  Thomas,"  she  in 
formed  him. 

229 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Thomas — Thomas  who — ?"  persisted  the  cap 
tain.  He  had  finished  his  paper,  and  he  was  ready 
for  any  kind  of  conversation. 

She  looked  up  a  trifle  impatiently. 

"Oh — Uncle  Hagen — it's  not  Thomas  anybody. 
That's  his  last  name.  He's  Nelson  Thomas." 

"Never  heard  of  him —  said  the  captain, 
promptly.  "What's  it  about — ?"  Whenever  her 
uncle  would  show  any  interest  in  her  books,  it  had 
always  been  Hilda's  custom  to  read  aloud — but 
now  she  was  strangely  silent.  "I  don't  think  that 
you  would  care  for  it — exactly,"  she  smiled. 

"Try  me —  '  answered  the  old  man,  as  he  re 
moved  his  spectacles,  leaned  his  head  on  the  back  of 
his  chair,  and  stretched  his  legs  in  front  of  him. 

A  mischievous  light  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  took 
up  the  book.  "Well — it's  about  Creation — the 
creation  of  man,  you  know." 

The  captain  nodded  intelligently.  "Of  course — 
I  understand  that  all  right.  That's  why  he  calls  it 
Creation  Crickyties." 

She  permitted  that  to  pass,  and  began  reading : 
"It's  rather  disconcerting  to  the  believer  in  the 
230 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Divine  origin  of  man,  to  learn  that  he  is  descended 
from  a  hairy,  tailed  quadruped,  a  habitant  of  the 
primeval  forests  in  the  oldest  of  the  old  worlds. 
From  the  quad —  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
uncle's  face  as  she  turned  a  page,  and  it  nearly 
finished  her  reading. 

"The  what—?"  he  exclaimed. 

He  had  drawn  in  his  feet  and  was  bending  for 
ward  with  both  elbows  resting  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair. 

"From  the  quad —  "  she  went  on.  "Dear  me — 
what  a  word — quadrumana." 

"What's  a  quadroon  Anna — ?"  queried  the  cap 
tain.  "Maybe  he  means — mulatto- — ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Hilda,  doubt 
fully.  "Where  was  I — ?"  she  ran  her  finger  care 
fully  down  the  page.  "Oh — yes,  here  it  is."  She 
resumed  her  reading:  "And  that  the  quadru 
mana,  with  the  higher  mammals — 

"You  mean  animals —  "  corrected  the  captain. 

"It  says — mammals."  Hilda  affirmed.  "Mam 
mals  are  descended  from  an  old  marsupial 
animal — 

231 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORE'S  ISLAND 

"I  told  you  it  was  animal,"  interrupted  the  old 
man  proudly.  He  rocked  back  and  forth,  as  Hilda 
went  on: — "And  these  in  turn  come  from  some 
amphibious  creature — 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  seemed  to  tax  his 
memory.  "Amphibious? —  '  he  interrupted,  "let 
me  think  a  moment." 

Hilda  stopped  reading. 

"Well,  what's  the  difficulty?"  she  asked. 

"Oh — I  was  just  thinking  that  an  amphibious 
creature  means — means — er — both  ways — ?" 

"Yes—?" 

He  got  up  and  went  to  a  little  shelf  that  hung 
in  a  corner  of  the  room.  Here  from  amongst 
an  odd  collection  of  worn  books  he  drew  forth 
a  dictionary.  He  turned  over  the  well-thumbed 
pages — "Here  it  is- — Amphibious,  having  the  fac 
ulty  of  living  in  two  elements,  air  and  water."  He 
closed  the  book.  "And  these  in  turn  arc  descended 
from  some  fish-like  animal — :  resumed  Hilda. 
Then  she  thought  she  heard  footsteps  approaching 
the  cottage.  She  stopped  and  listened.  It  must 
have  been  the  wind.  She  shivered  a  little. 
232 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"How  cold  it  is  getting.  Suppose  we  start  the 
fire — ?"  she  suggested. 

There  was  a  wide,  stone  fireplace ;  and  a  pair 
of  iron  dogs,  across  which*  was  laid  a  few  logs  of 
satiny  white  birch.  Underneath  was  stuffed  some 
paper,  and  a  few  pine  cones. 

"It  is  kind  of  chilly —  "  assented  the  captain,  as 
he  broke  off  a  sulphur  match  from  a  block,  on  the 
mantle.  "I'll  light  it — and  also  my  pipe."  He 
filled  an  old  briar-wood  from  an  earthen  jar  of 
tobacco  and — striking  the  match — he  lit  his  pipe 
first  and  then  the  paper  under  the  logs. 

"The  smoke  won't  bother  you — Hilda,"  he 
apologized.  "When  the  fire  begins  to  draw."  The 
flames  were  leaping  and  crackling  around  the  logs 
as  the  skipper  pulled  his  chair  closer. 

After  he  drew  in  each  mouthful  of  smoke,  he 
would  make  an  ostentatious — and  entirely  unnec 
essary — effort  to  blow  it  up  the  chimney.  Hilda 
watched  his  performance  with  a  loving  smile.  The 
rugged  face — in  which  the  deepest  wrinkles  lay 
about  the  kindly  blue  eyes — shone  dim  and  soft,  in 
the  fitful  glow  of  the  firelight. 
233 


BRUNHILD  A  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"You  know  that  I  love  the  smell  of  tobacco,"  she 
assured  him.  And  then — impulsively,  she  arose, 
went  to  him,  and  putting  an  arm  around  his  broad, 
sturdy  shoulders,  she  kissed  his  old  weather-beaten 
cheek. 

She  felt  the  patient  goodness  of  the  man ;  the 
sudden  premonition  of  loss,  should  anything  hap 
pen  to  him,  and  a  feeling  of  gratitude  for  all  that 
he  had  done  for  her — "You  just  smoke  as  much  as 
you  please — Uncle  Hagen,"  she  said,  tenderly. 

Creative  Crudities  slipped  from  her  lap  with  a 
noisy  crash  to  the  floor.  He  picked  it  up  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

"What  came  ahead  of  the  fish-like  animal?"  he 
asked  her,  as  she  resumed  her  seat  and  opened  the 
book. 

She  skipped  over  two  or  three  pages, — read  a 
few  lines,  skipped  some  more  pages,  and  closed  the 
volume.  "It  doesn't  say —  '  she  replied,  with  a 
little  sleepy  yawn.  Then  she  leaned  over  and  drop 
ping  her  chin  in  her  hands,  her  elbows  on  her  knees, 
she  stared  into  the  cheerful  fire 

For  some  moments  they  sat  watching  the  flicker- 
234 


\ 
BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

ing  blaze — neither  caring  to  talk.  Then  the  cap 
tain  broke  the  silence. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  book — ?"  he  asked. 
The  tone  of  his  voice  indicated  the  measure  of  his 
disapproval. 

"I  bought  it  in  New  York —  "  she  replied,  still 
staring  into  the  fire.  It  must  have  been  the  reflec 
tion  from  the  hot  embers  that  made  her  cheeks 
burn. 

"Well — 't  ain't  much —  "  the  old  man  criticized. 
"I  don't  have  any  trouble  in  classing  men  from 
monkeys,  snake-birds,  and  devil  fish.  A  man  can 
think  about  his  past  and  be  sorry — or  glad,  but 
mostly  sorry.  Then  a  man  can  hope  for  better 
things  to  come.  And  he  has  a  conscience — a 
mighty  lively  one  sometimes.  And  he  can  talk, 
and  read,  and  think  about  things.  And  a  man  can 
pray.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  monkey,  snake- 
bird,  or  devil  fish  that  could  do  all  that — ?" 

Hilda  shook  her  head  positively. 

"No— indeed." 

The  captain  smoked,  contemplatively.  Then  he 
spoke  as  though  he  had  been  thinking  aloud: — 
235 


BRUNIIILDA  OF  ORR'S  1ST  AND 

"Anyway,—  "  ho  said  conclusively,  "if  God  could 
make  a  monkey — -or  a  bird ;  a  fish,  a  snake,  or  an 
oyster — He  surely  could  make  a  man,  at  the  same 
time — ?"  He  glanced  with  undisguised  resentment 
at  the  book  on  Hilda's  lap.  "It's  creating  life — 
that's  what  it  is ;  that's  the  miracle ;  that's  what 
they  can't  explain  or  figure  out."  Again  his  eyes 
rested  on  the  little  volume. 

"What's  the   use   of  talking   that   way — ?"   he 
growled 

Then,  he  began  to  nod. 

She  sat  by  the  fire  for  a  long  time — so  quietly 
that  Uncle  Hagen,  missing  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
went  fast  asleep.  Then,  she  arose,  and  throwing 
a  cape  over  her  shoulders,  she  walked  softly  to  the 
front  door  and  opened  it  gently,  very  gently — and 
stepped  out  into  the  glorious  moonlight.  It  was 
nearly  ten  o'clock.  The  air  was  cool,  refreshing. 
A  light  breeze  laden  with  the  softness  of  the  sea, 
was  whispering  in  the  apple  trees  in  the  orchard; 
the  faint  murmur  of  the  waves  splashing  against 
the  rocks  in  a  near-by  cove,  reached  her  ears ;  there 
was  no  sound  from  the  sleeping  village. 
236 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

She  walked  slowly  down  the  lane,  thinking,  won 
dering,  deciding  that  it  was  all  a  dream.  And  it 
still  seemed  to  be  a  dream  as  she  saw  the  object 
of  her  thoughts  coining  towards  her.  Strange  to 
say,  she  was  not  surprised — nor  frightened,  for  it 
was  all  happening  just  as  she  had  imagined  that  it 
would  happen.  And  his  face  was  so  full  of  love — 
so  kind  and  appealing.  She  was  not  afraid — on 
the  contrary  she  felt  that  she  was  quickening  her 
steps  to  meet  him. 

He  took  her  hand — 

"Hilda—" 

"Oh — ?"  she  said,  and  then  she  vainly  tried  to 
dispel  the  dream,  to  be  conventional.  She  had  been 
perfectly  sure  that  it  was  going  to  happen,  just  as 
it  was  happening.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
what  she  would  say  to  him,  and  yet,  somehow,  he 
had  found  her  unprepared. 

"Hilda —  "  he  said  simply,  "I  love  you." 

She  knew  what  he  was  going  to  say,  and  yet  she 

gasped — held  her  breath.     She  had  been  so  sure  of 

herself;  she  had  been  so  certain  of  her  duty,  of 

what  she  should  say  to  him.     And  here  she  was 

237 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

trembling — with  her  heart  dancing  in  ecstasy.   She 
turned  towards  the  cottage — away  from  him. 

"Mr.  Thomas—  "  she  said,  almost  inaudibly. 

He  seized  her  cape — -her  arm. 

"Hilda — I  love  you.  Don't  go — will  you  marry 
me — ?"  He  retained  his  hold  of  her.  He  was 
afraid  that  she  would  again  run  away  from  him. 
"Don't —  she  said,  drawing  away,  gently. 
"Please — don't — touch  me."  After  all  the  careful 
thought  and  preparation  to  find  herself  so  weak 
when  the  moment  had  arrived.  But— the  joy,  the 
happiness  that  had  come  to  her — !  But  she  must 
obey  her  conscience. 

"Hilda — ?"  There  was  a  volume  of  entreaty, 
remonstrance,  almost  despair  in  his  voice. 

"No — no,  I  can't—  "  she  whispered.  "I  must  go 
back  to  the  house — Uncle  Hagen  will  miss  me- — 

"I'll  go  back  with  you —  '  he  said  with  deter 
mination.  "I'll  tell  the  captain — myself." 

"No — no,"  she  said,  hurriedly.   "It  isn't  that—" 

"Then  what  is  it?"  he  demanded. 

"Now — now  is  the  time,"  she  thought.     But  her 
voice  trembled,  miserably. 
238 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Ask  Miss  Conrad,"  she  said,  faintly. 

A  great  light  dawned  on  him.  There  was  only 
the  moon  and  the  stars  visible  to  his  eyes,  but  a 
mental  illumination  lighted  his  mind  so  that  the 
moon  and  the  stars  seemed  to  dance  together  in  one 
maze  of  bewildering  glory. 

"Is  that  all — ?"  he  said,  jubilantly. 

His  heart  was  singing  in  triumph. 

"Isn't  that  enough—?" 

She  had  performed  her  duty ;  her  conscience  was 
at  rest.  The  thought  that  had  oppressed  her  ever 
since  she  had  seen  Anne,  on  board  of  the  Phyllis — 
and  Captain  Botts  may  have  said  something,  too — 
was  now  spoken. 

"Hilda — look  here."  He  moved  closer  to  her 
and  looked  straight  into  her  eyes. 

"Do  you  care  for  me — at  all — ?" 

"I, — gracious — !"  her  eyes  chanced  to  glance 
towards  the  cottage,  and  there  was  Uncle  Hagen — 
his  head  and  shoulders  framed  in  an  open  window 
— looking  right  and  left. 

"Do  you — ?"  repeated  Nelson,  obstinately. 

"Oh — I  must  go — "  she  pleaded. 
239 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Do  you — ?"  he  insisted. 

She  saw  her  uncle  close  the  window  and  then  re 
appear  at  the  open  door. 

He  was  coming  towards  them — down  the  lane. 

"Yes — oh,  go.    Please  go — 

Nelson  caught  the  outstretched  hand — for  the 
smallest  part  of  a  second — and  kissed  it.  "Go — 
hurry, — "  she  whispered. 

There  was  a  flutter  of  a  skirt,  as  Hilda  disap 
peared  into  the  shrubbery  that  bordered  the  lane. 

Then  Nelson  turned  and  walked,  deliberately  up 
the  lane,  towards  the  cottage. 

"Why — hello — !  Collins —  '  said  the  captain, 
cordially.  "Where  did  you  come  from — ?" 

"Straight  from  New  York —  "  chirped  Nelson, 
with  gladsome  gaiety.  Yes — she  certainly  said 
"yes" — there  was  no  doubt  of  it. 

"Came  down  to  show  you  fellows  how  to  sail  a 
boat — "  he  continued  merrily.  I  am  positive  that 
she  said — "yes." 

"Oh — you  did —  '  laughed  the  captain,  good 
naturedly.  "Got  your  boat  with  you — ?" 

He  peered  around,  curiously.  "What's  that — ?" 
240 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  listened  intently.  "Thought  I  saw  something 
moving  through  the  bushes —  he  explained. 
"Guess  I'm  getting  to  see  double  at  night — 

"The  boat  will  be  here  on  time — '  Nelson  as 
sured  him.  "She's  a  wonder — 

"So— you  don't  tell  me—" 

The   captain   was    chuckling   and    rubbing   his 
hands.     "Come  right  in  and  tell  me  about  her — 
he  turned,  and  was  walking  towards  the  cottage. 
Then  he  stopped  abruptly. 

"Where's  your  grip — ?" 

"My  grip — ?"  Nelson  looked  foolishly  around 
on  the  ground. 

"Oh — there  it  is — under  that  tree — 

He  felt  that  some  explanation  was  necessary  to 
account  for  that  vagrant  bag — lying  by  the  way 
side — but  there  was  none  forthcoming. 

"Just  threw  it  overboard,  to  lighten  ship — ?" 
suggested  the  old  man. 

Nelson  went  back  and  picked  up  the  small  leather 

bag  that  he  had  carried  all  through  his   foggy 

wanderings.     There  was  a  twinkle  in  the  captain's 

eyes  as  he  watched  him.     He  seemed  to  be  in  his 

241 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

most  jovial  mood  as  they  walked  along  together. 
Perhaps  he  was  rejoicing  in  the  anticipation  of  a 
good  boat  race — ?  It  may  be  that  he  was  not  so 
unobservant  as  Hilda  believed.  Or  conceivably  a 
man  can  hear  things  when  he  is  supposed  to  be 
asleep — ? 

They  were  just  on  the  threshold  of  the  house 
when  he  turned  to  Nelson  with  the  question :  "Say 
— do  you  talk  much  to  yourself—?" 

"I — ?"  Nelson  felt  himself  getting  uncomfort 
ably  warm.  How  much  did  this  innocent  looking 
old  skipper  know — ? 

"Sometimes  I  do — "  he  answered  slowly,  "when 
I  haven't  anyone  better  to  talk  to — 

The  captain  nodded  his  head. 

"That  accounts  for  it —  "  he  said  as  though  he 
had  solved  a  mystery,  "I  thought  I  heard  two  per 
sons  talking — but  it  must  have  been  only  you." 

Then  he  ushered  Nelson  into  the  cosy  little  sit 
ting-room.  A  few  charred  sticks  were  still  glow 
ing  in  the  fireplace.  The  well-worn  chairs  looked 
comfortable — there  was  a  hospitable  smell  of 
tobacco  in  the  air. 

242 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Sit  right  down —  "  insisted  the  captain,  as  he 
pushed  his  own  rocker  nearer  the  hearth. 

"You're  going  to  stay  with  us — of  course." 
"I'm  afraid  that  I  shall  inconvenience — ' 
"Inconvenience — nobody,"    the    captain    inter 
rupted  him,  "I'll  call  Hilda."     .... 


243 


Ill 


HILDA  had  slipped  through  the  orchard  and 
into  the  back  door  of  the  cottage  before  the 
men  arrived.     In  response  to  her  uncle's  call 
she  had  tripped  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  sit 
ting-room  with  an  outstretched  hand  of  welcome 
for  Mr.  Collins. 

"He  wants  his  same  room,  Hilda,"  the  captain 
informed  her,  "and  I  don't  believe  he's  had  a 
mouthful  for  supper — 

"Really  captain —  '  Nelson  protested. 
"Got  lost  in  the  fog — and  nearly  fell  off  the 
island — "  continued  the  captain. 

"I'm  not  a  particle  hungry —  interjected 
Nelson,  as  he  saw  Hilda  moving  towards  the 
kitchen. 

"Been  ever  since  seven  o'clock  getting  up  here 
from  the  landing,"  the  old  man  informed  her. 
Hilda  tried  to  appear  interested. 
244 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Broke  down  in  the  lane,  and  threw  over  his  bag 
gage — "  he  laughed. 

Hilda  looked  puzzled. 

"Coming  along  with  the  current,  when  I  saw  him 
and  towed  him  in — "  .... 

She  permitted  her  eyes  to  rest  in  his,  with  an 
intelligence  that  set  his  heart  to  throbbing  wildly. 
Then  she  arose — 

"Your  room  is  ready — whenever  you  wish  to 
retire.  Good-night — Mr.  Collins."  .... 

The  fire  burned  low — there  was  only  a  few  pieces 
of  burnt  wood,  spangled  with  fitful  sparks  of  fire — 
and  still,  old  man  Gunther  sat,  with  his  head  buried 
deep  in  the  palms  of  his  brawny  hands. 

I  venture  to  say,  that  he  was  recalling  an  inci 
dent  in  his  life,  an  incident  that  gave  him  nearly 
two  years  of  happiness — and  then  a  life  in  which 
there  was  nothing  left  but  its  memory.  As  he  sat 
brooding  over  the  dying  embers  of  the  little  wood 
fire,  buried  in  thought,  he  could  see  the  image  of  a 
tall,  straight,  eager  young  man — with  ruddy 
cheeks  and  laughing  blue  eyes.  And,  near  by  was 
another  vision,  of  a  maid — a  girl  scarcely  broke 
245 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

from  school — with  mirthful  hazel  eyes,  under  long, 
drooping  lashes.  A  maid  with  hair  of  chestnut 
brown;  with  a  mouth  red-lipped,  and  full  of  lurk 
ing  gravity.  A  maid  with  the  tall  lithe  form,  and 
poise  of  an  Indian  Princess.  Then,  this  vision  of  a 
maid  faded  away ;  leaving  the  young  man  alone — 
just  as  she  had  left  him  years  before. 

I  doubt  not  that  he  recalled  the  sudden  agony  of 
loss  that  had  come  upon  him,  with  such  overwhelm 
ing  sorrow,  that  even  now — after  all  the  interven 
ing  years — the  memory  of  her  had  become  a  grief 
so  sacred,  that  it  lay  buried  in  his  heart — deep  in 
its  most  secret  recesses — a  blessed  thing;  a  reli 
gion 

I  imagine  that  he  was  thinking  of  the  day  when 
his  ship  had  sailed  out  of  Portland  Harbor,  bound 
on  a  trading  cruise  around  the  world — she  was 
three  years  making  the  voyage.  And  during  all 
that  time  a  pair  of  hazel  eyes  had  haunted  his 
vision,  and  blurred  his  senses ;  so  that  in  the  streets 
of  Hong-Kong,  off  the  coast  of  Australia,  or  in 
the  lonely  watches  of  the  night,  he  could  think  of 

but  little  else 

246 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

And  then  had  come  to  him  the  sorrow  of  others 
— the  wonderful  panacea  for  a  grief  laden  soul — 
and  the  comforting  of  the  homeless  little  orphan, 
Brunhilda — his  brother  Etzel's  only  child. 

The  fire  was  out — there  was  nothing  but  a  few 
sticks  of  charred  wood  and  ashes — and  still  "old 
man  Gunther"  sat  by  the  hearth,  with  his  head 
buried  deep  in  the  palms  of  his  brawny  hands. 


247 


IV 


WOUT  last  night  you  said  'yes'  "— ,  Nelson  re- 

JD     monstrated. 

"Oh — that  wasn't  fair,"  answered  Hilda. 
"I  did  not  want  Uncle  Hagen  to  know — " 

"Well,  he  knows  now,"  he  asserted. 

A  shade  of  annoyance,  anxiety,  passed  over 
Hilda's  face. 

"What  do  you  mean — ?" 

"I  told  him — last  night,"  he  affirmed. 

"You  told  him — what?"  I  am  sure  that  she  was 
thinking  more  of  the  captain  that  moment  than  of 
herself. 

"I  told  him  that  I  had  asked  you  to  marry  me," 
he  said,  boldly. 

"Oh — ,"  she  exclaimed.  "Poor  Uncle  Hagen !--" 

His  heart  jumped,  he  caught  his  breath. 

"Why — poor  Uncle  Hagen — ?"  he  reassured 
her. 

248 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"He'll  miss  you  of  course,  but — 

"Oh — I  wasn't  thinking  of  that — ,"  she  cor 
rected  gently,  smiling.  There  was  mischief  lurk 
ing  in  her  blue  eyes.  "I  was  thinking  of  the  pity 
it  was  to  raise  his  hopes — for  nothing." 

"Then  you  did  not  mean — what  you  said,"  he 
muttered  vexedly.  They  were  walking  down  the 
main  road  to  the  village.  As  they  reached  a  com 
manding  elevation  in  the  road  they  could  see  in  the 
distance  the  blue  ocean,  with  its  white-capped 
waves,  gleaming  under  the  bright  morning  sun. 
And  on  the  other  side  were  the  cedars  and  ever 
greens,  with  a  touch  of  scarlet  here  and  there — 
denoting  the  approaching  autumn. 

And  there  were  spots  of  yellow  in  the  green  of  the 
fields — where  bunches  of  goldenrod  were  growing. 

When  they  turned  off  the  main  road,  to  the  post 
office,  they  came  in  sight  of  the  little  cove,  and 
there,  riding  lightly  at  anchor,  was  Captain  Her 
bert  Kenneth's  boat  the  Pearl — the  "slickest" 
thirty  footer  in  Casco  Bay.  She  stopped  suddenly 
and  faced  Nelson.  Her  eyes  held  a  curious  ex 
pression. 

249 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Under  certain  conditions — ,"  she  said,  thought 
fully, — "I  might — consider — 

"Name  them — ,"  said  Nelson,  with  determina 
tion. 

"Uncle  Hagen  told  me  that  you  were  going  to 
enter  a  boat  in  the  race — next  week — ?" 

"Sure — ,"  he  vowed. 

"Well —        She  paused,  and  blushed  furiously. 

"Well —         He  watched  her — in  silence. 

"What  is  the  name  of — of  your  boat — ?" 

"Bo-it,"  Nelson  repeated,  under  his  breath,  and 
smiled. 

"The  Irene — ,"  he  said,  aloud. 

She  turned  her  head  awa}r,  and  gazed  at  the 
Pearl,  gently  tugging  at  her  moorings — then  at 
the  sea  beyond. 

"The  Pearl  is  a  very  fast  boat — ,"  she  ventured, 
dreamily. 

"Oh — there  are  others — ,"  he  replied,  briskly. 

There  was  a  marked  shade  of  annoyance  in  his 
manner  as  he  surveyed  the  graceful  lines  of  the 
sloop. 

"Uncle  Hagen  thinks  that  she  will  win  the 
250 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

race — ?"  she  said,  with  malice  afterthought.  But 
her  eyes  were  cast  down — so  that  he  could  not  see 
them. 

"The  captain  has  not  seen  the  Irene, — so  his 
opinion  is  only  the  merest  guess,"  he  contended. 

"Then  you  think  that  the  Irene  will  win — ?" 
Now,  she  was  looking  straight  into  his  eyes,  and 
her  eyes  were  dancing,  dancing. 

"Oh — one  is  never  sure, — of  course,  there  are 
so  many  things  that  might  happen — ,"  he  an 
swered,  carelessly.  Then  he  tried  to  change  the 
subject.  "But  what  are  the  certain  conditions, 
under  which  you  suggested  that  you  might  con 
sider  my — my — " 

"Oh — yes — !"  she  exclaimed,  with  sudden  ani 
mation.  "But  first,  I  wanted  to  know  whether  you 
thought — that  is,  which  boat—  She  stopped  in 
some  confusion. 

"I  hope  that  you  are  not  risking  anything  on 
the  result,"  he  said  solemnly —  "There  is  nothing 
so  uncertain  as  a  boat  race ;  and  besides,  betting  is 
a  vicious  practice,  and  one  that — 

He  broke  into  a  laugh  as  he  saw  her  deep  blue 
251 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

eyes  grow  round,  and  open  wide.  For  the  moment 
he  had  adopted  the  style  in  which  he  usually  ad 
dressed  Anne. 

"Oh — you  are  joking — ?" 

She  closed  her  curved  lips  tightly,  and  a  tiny 
wrinkle — dimple — appeared  between  her  low, 
straight  brows. 

"I  was  thinking  of  risking — something,"  she  re 
marked,  slowly.  .  . 

"But,  the  conditions — ?"  he  reminded  her,  a 
trifle  impatiently.  Oh — !  if  he  could  only  take  her 
in  his  arms,  and  carry  her  off — as  they  did  in  the 
olden  times — away  from  the  island,  away  from 
everybody,  to  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness ;  to  a 
secure  fastness,  in  the  heart  of  a  primeval  forest — ! 

"Oh- — the  conditions —  "  she  repeated,  with  an 
exasperating  show  of  absent-mindedness.  "I  am 
afraid  that  they  involve  a  certain  amount  of 
chance — a  wager, — a  practice  that  is —  What 
did  you  say — ?  Oh — yes,  vicious." 

They  were  walking  around  the  head  of  the  cove, 
and  up  the  sloping  shore  path,  to  the  pines  that 
fringed  the  rocks. 

252 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

It  may  have  been  chance,  it  may  have  been  in 
tention  ;  or  it  may  have  been  the  result  of  two 
minds  thinking  the  same  thoughts,  that  directed 
their  footsteps  to  a  secluded  shady  nook  overlook 
ing  the  sea. 

One  could  scarcely  imagine  a  more  beautiful 
spot.  It  was  as  if  the  hand  of  Nature  had  cun 
ningly  contrived  an  apartment,  in  mock  imitation 
of  the  puny  efforts  of  man — in  his  habitations. 
There  was  a  floor,  of  solid  rock,  covered  an  inch 
deep  with  a  soft  dry  moss  of  variegated  colors ;  it 
yielded  to  the  pressure  of  a  foot  like  the  deepest 
plush  carpet.  The  walls  of  this  nature  room  con 
sisted  of  thick-leaved  pines,  and  cedars,  closely 
matted,  and  intermingling  in  glossy  greens — an 
impenetrable  screen,  that  grew  from  the  crevices  in 
the  rock  to  a  height  of  a  dozen  feet.  For  a  ceiling 
there  were  overhanging  limbs  of  larger  trees, 
gracefully  outlined  against  an  azure  sky.  In 
front,  without  any  intervening  obstacle,  was  the 
glorious  prospect  of  the  ocean;  a  view  made  more 
satisfying  to  the  senses  by  a  light,  salt-laden 
breeze  that  blew  gently  towards  the  land. 
253 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Hilda  sat  on  a  moss-covered  ledge  of  rock,  that 
fitted  this  charming  retreat,  like  a  tufted  couch — 
covered  with  Oriental  draperies.  "A  perfect 
day — ,"  she  said  casually. 

Nelson  stood  facing  the  sea,  and  was  expanding 
his  lungs  with  its  delicious  breath.  "A  perfect  day 
— but,"  he  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  mossy  ledge. 
"You  have  not  answered  me,"  he  persisted. 

Her  eyes  narrowed  in  a  dreamy  reverie,  as  she 
scanned  the  farthest  horizon, — where  the  pale  blue 
sky  just  touched  the  deeper  blue  of  the  water. 
Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  her  future,  and  of  the 
great  world  that  lay  beyond  the  horizon,  beyond 
the  outermost  islands  that  dotted  her  vision.  How 
many  times  in  this  very  spot  had  she  built  her 
castle—?  Her  turreted  structure  of  silver,  and 
gold,  of  glittering  stones ;  and  the  surrounding 
gardens  of  flowers  and  foliage,  the  like  of  which 
she  had  never  seen,  but  only  imagined.  In  the 
gardens  were  fountains  of  sparkling  water,  and 
mirror  lakes  on  which  were  white  swans  that  came 
and  fed  from  her  hand.  And  when  she  had  finished 
her  castle,  she  had  placed — as  lord  over  it  all — a 
254 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

princely  youth,  tall  and  dark,  with  kindly  brown 
eyes.  Yes — she  was  sure  that  he  was  tall  and  dark, 
and  that  he  had  gentle  brown  eyes.  And,  when  he 
had  gone  on  his  knees  before  her,  and  had  asked 
her  to  become  his  own  little  wife,  she  had  answered 
— with  becoming  modesty.  When — piff — !  Away 
went  her  castle,  like  the  down  of  a  thistle,  and  she 
was  back  again,  in  the  little  white  cottage — with 
Uncle  Hagen. 

She  must  have  been  thinking  of  him,  for  she 
asked  Nelson : — 

"What  did  my  uncle  say,  when — when  you  told 
him—?" 

"Say — ?"    He  came  slowly  out  of  his  reverie. 

"He  said  that —  '  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
smiled,  at  the  recollection. 

"Well — ?"     She  held  her  face  slightly  averted. 

"You  know  that  the  captain  never  wastes 
words — ?"  he  explained. 

She  nodded  her  head — bending  low,  before  him. 
She  had  never  appeared,  to  him,  more  beautiful. 

"He  said —  '  Nelson  continued  slowly,  "that  if 
you  loved  me,  and — if  I  loved  you,  that  was 
255 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

enough.  He  said  that  there  was  nothing  else 
worth  considering." 

"Oh — but  there  is — "  she  interrupted,  laughing. 

"Yes— what  is  it—?" 

"Well — there  are  the  conditions,  you  know." 
She  was  still  laughing  at  his  evident  impatience. 

"Please  name  them —  "  he  implored. 

She  settled  herself,  comfortably,  on  the  ledge, 
leaned  back,  folded  her  hands,  and  half  closing 
her  eyes  she  watched  him  through  her  dark  lashes. 

"Well — in  the  first  place —  '  she  began,  very 
deliberately,  "the  Irene  must  win  the  race." 

"Oh—!"  he  sighed  his  relief.  "She'll  win  all 
right." 

"Then — if  the  Irene  should  win —  "  She  paused 
with  even  more  deliberation. 

"Then — "    She  stopped,  and  hung  her  head. 

"Well — ?"  He  moved  closer  to  her,  on  the 
moss-covered  ledge.  He  tried  to  catch  her  veiled, 
downcast  eyes. 

"I  might,  consider — " 


256 


THE    village    post    office    was    a    square,    two- 
storied,  frame  building,  the  first  floor  room 
of  which  was  a  combination   of  post   office 
and  country  store.      There  was  a  counter  running 
around  two  sides  of  the  room,  and  on  the  shelves, 
behind  it,  was  a  motley  collection  of  merchandise 
that  included  everything  from  a  stick  of  candy  to 
a  suit  of  clothes. 

Tacked  to  the  wall  was  a  notice  of  reward  for 
the  arrest  and  conviction  of  a  defaulting  govern 
ment  official ;  side  by  side  with  a  notice  which 
stated  that  the  Bishop  would  preach  on  a  certain 
date— long  past.  On  the  counter  was  another 
warning- — politely  worded — intimating  that  gen 
tlemen  would  not  use  the  counter  as  a  settee. 

Before  leaving  New  York,  Nelson  had  instructed 
the  clerk  at  the  Luxmorc  to  forward  his  letters, 
under  cover,  to  William  Collins.     So,  when  he  en- 
257 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

quired  at  the  post  office  he  was  handed  a  bulky 
envelope  enclosing  several  letters.  Among  them 
was  one  from  Lighthall.  It  was  long,  and  closely 
written,  and  Nelson  decided,  after  glancing  at  the 
signature,  to  go  down  on  the  end  of  the  wharf  and 
read  it  leisurely. 

As  the  letter  explains  certain  events  that  hap 
pened,  I  have  decided  to  transcribe  its  contents. 
It  read: — 

Dear  Nelson : 

I  am  sorry  that  I  did  not  see  you  be 
fore  I  came  back  to  the  "Oaks"  as  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  of  a  curious  happen 
ing  by  which  I  accidentally  heard  of 
your  little  affair  with  a  beautiful  island 
maid.  Miss  Conrad  knows  about  it  also 
— but  that  comes  later.  You  are  aware, 
no  doubt,  that  in  my  serious  days  I 
studied  law,  was  admitted  to  the  bar, 
and  have  had  the  honor  of  paying  half 
the  expenses  of  an  office,  in  which  my 
partner  does  all  the  work.  Well — I  hap 
pened  to  be  there  the  other  day,  and 
258 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

overheard  a  young  fellow  in  our  employ, 
by  the  name  of  Wyse,  relating  a  very 
circumstantial  account  of  a  certain  mil 
lionaire,  named  Nelson  Thomas,  who  was 
masquerading  on  Orr's  Island  under  the 
assumed  name  of  William  Collins.  I 
gathered  further  that  the  young  lady  in 
the  case  is  a  fisherman's  daughter  by  the 
name  of  Brunhilda — I've  forgotten  her 
last  name,  but  she  is  a  great  friend  of 
our  young  man's  sister. 

I  thought  that  the  story  was  interest 
ing  enough  to  tell  to  Miss  Conrad — but 
somehow  she  seems  to  take  the  matter 
seriously — says  she  hopes  that  you  won't 
make  a  fool  of  yourself — her  own  words 
— and  insists  that  I  should  use  my  influ 
ence  with  you  in  the  matter.  So — this 
letter  is  the  result ;  because  I  promised 
that  I  would  write,  and  also  because  she 
seems  to  have  taken  a  sudden,  and  re 
newed  interest  in  our — my  proposal. 

I  am  depending  on  your  advice,  to 
259 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

leave  it  to  her,  but — do  you  think  it  is 
safe — ?  She  might  accept — unexpect 
edly.  By  the  way,  your  aunt  was  not  in 
the  humor  to  appreciate  the  story, 
either.  She  made  some  slighting  remarks 
about  Mackerel  Cove — which  I  did  not 
understand.  When  are  you  coming 
up — ?  We  have  quite  a  bunch  of  new 
arrivals.  It's  warm  for  golf — but  it 
must  be  hot  in  New  York.  Shake  it,  and 
come  up — You  think  it  is  all  right,  do 
you — ?  To  leave  it  to  her. 
Yours, 

Lighthall. 


260 


VI 


THERE    was    another    letter,    written    about 
this  time,  a  letter  which  I  have  read,  but 
the  contents  of  which,  seem  to  me,  are  so 
personal,  that  I  hesitate  about  giving  it  publicity. 
It  was  from  Hilda  to  her  friend  Grace — in  Port 
land. 

I  will  make  a  few  excerpts : — 

"You  were  right.     He  came  to  Orr's 

Island  almost  as  soon  as  I  did 

and  the  funniest  thing,  I  knew  that  he  was 
coming — almost  to  the  minute — and 
went  out  to  meet  him,  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night! — I  know  that  you  will  be  dread 
fully  shocked yes  I  have 

loved  him  all  my  life  ....  ever 
since  the  beginning  ....  laugh 
if  you  must,  but  for  heaven's  sake  don't 
show  this  to  John.  Burn  it.  ... 
261 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Herbert  worries  me,  he  is  so  stupid,  and 
just  won't  see — he  bragged  so  about  his 
boat  that  I  got  angry  and  told  him  that 
Mr.  Collins  could  beat  him.  My  but  he 

was  excited If  he  can,  I'm 

done — he  said.     So  Nelson  is  going  to 

beat  him Oh — Grace  I  am 

so  happy — 

Lovingly, 

Hilda. 


262 


VII 


3N    east   wind   blew,    and   fitful    drops    of   rain 
splashed   against    the    cottage   windows ;    it 
promised  to  be  a  dismal  day. 
Nelson  threw  down  his  book,  and  wandered,  aim 
lessly,  around  the  sitting  room,  peering  through 
the  panes  at  the  dull  low  skies;  the  sea  had  lost  its 
sparkling  action,  and  lay  motionless,  sullen,  under 
the  drifting  mist  and  clouds. 

"If  it  would  only  clear —  '  he  said,  dolefully. 
And  then — "what's  keeping  her,  anyway — ?"  he 
asked  himself,  for  the  fourth — or  was  it  the 
fortieth  time,  as  he  opened  the  front  door,  looked 
down  the  lane,  and  closed  it  again. 

He  paced  back  and  forth,  in  increasing  impa 
tience.  He  went  to  the  fireplace,  and  gazed  long 
and  curiously  at  the  bony  protuberance  of  a 
sword  fish,  that  hung  on  the  wall,  embalmed  in  a 
glass  covered,  velvet  lined,  casket.  He  examined, 
263 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

with  unconscious  minuteness,  the  Hindo  idol  that 
was  squatting  on  the  mantel  in  juxtaposition  with 
a  short-skirted  maiden — of  Dresden  china.  He 
went  to  the  captain's  little  shelf  of  books,  and  took 
out  aimlessly :  "Plutarchs  Lives" — "Keith's  Proph 
ecies" — "The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island" — and  an 
old  copy  of  "The  Mariners  Guide,"  and  shoved 
them  back  into  place,  with  an  air  of  peevishness. 

Then  he  threw  open  the  door,  and  again  looked 
down  the  lane. 

"Ah—" 

Hilda  was  coming. 

She  had  a  bundle  under  each  arm,  and  the  wind 
was  blowing  stray  locks  of  hair  about  her  face,  and 
reddening  her  glowing  cheeks  to  a  most  bewitch 
ing  crimson. 

Nelson  stood  in  the  open  doorway  in  silent  ad 
miration  of  the  supple  lines  of  her  lithe,  pliant, 
young  body ;  as  she  bent  her  head,  against  the 
wind,  with  determined  resistance. 

"What  a  time  I've  had — "  she  said,  breathless 
with  her  rapid  walk.     "I  had  to  go  all  the  way  to 
The  Point — and  the  wind  was  so  rough — " 
264 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

She  deposited  her  bundles  on  the  nearest  chair, 
and  smiled  at  him,  radiantly,  through  a  misty 
filigree  of  golden,  stray,  locks. 

"That  need  not  have  taken  you  two  months — " 
he  said  complainingly. 

Hilda  removed  her  hat,  and  jabbed  a  long,  dirk- 
like  pin  clear  through  it. 

"Two  months — ?"     She  looked  puzzled. 

He  took  out  his  watch,  and  covered  its  face. 

"Well — you  left  here,  one  morning,  at  nine 
o'clock,  and  now  it's — it's — 

"Ten-thirty,"  she  finished.  "I  can  see  the  clock 
in  the  kitchen." 

"Ten-thirty — ?"  repeated  Nelson — as  one  cast 
ing  doubt  on  another's  statement.  "Well — that 
would  be  exactly  seven  weeks ;  six  days ;  twenty- 
three  and  one-half  hours,  since  you  left  me. 

A  light  gleamed  in  her  eyes,  a  light  that  turned 
his  head.  "Gracious — !"  she  laughed,  merrily. 
"Has  it  been  as  long  as  that — ?" 

"Every  moment,"  he  asserted,  solemnly. 

"And    what    have    you    been    doing    all    that 
time — ?"  she  inquired,  gaily. 
265 


BRUNHILD  A  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

There  was  an  air  of  briskness,  of  animation, 
about  her  as  she  moved  around  the  little  room ; 
picking  up  this,  arranging  that ;  and  all  the  time 
carrying  on  the  conversation. 

She  was  full  of  verve,  spirit,  life. 

His  eyes  followed  her  with  increasing  admira 
tion.  He  moved  to  her  side — hoping  to  take  her 
unawares — as  she  picked  up  her  bundles.  "If  you 
can  stand  still — a  moment,  I'll  tell  you — •"  he 
said,  while  his  eyes  devoured  her. 

She,  dextrously,  put  the  table  between  them. 

"You'll  have  no  dinner —  '  she  informed  him, 
"if  I  wait  much  longer." 

"I  don't  want  any  dinner,"  said  he.  "I  have 
dinner  every  day,  but — your  Uncle  Hagen  isn't 
always  out  fishing — 

Her  face  clouded  with  anxiety,  as  she  glanced 
through  the  window  at  the  gray,  drifting  clouds. 

"He  should  not  have  gone  to-day,"  she  said. 

"I  mean  that  we  are  not  always  alone,"  he  en 
lightened  her. 

"Oh —  '  She  was  edging  towards  the  kitchen 
with  her  bundles. 

266 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"And  I  have  been  hunting  up  your  pedigree," 
he  said,  as  she  disappeared.  "I  want  to  read  it  to 
you." 

He  picked  up  the  volume  that  he  had  been  read 
ing,  and  followed  her  into  the  kitchen.  Hilda's 
kitchen — with  an  air  about  it,  that  rainy  morning, 
that  was  most  enticing.  The  kettle  was  simmering 
cheerfully  on  a  stove  that  was  polished  to  a  re 
flecting  blackness ;  cherry  segments  of  brightness 
— from  the  live  coals  within — shone  through  the 
half-opened  lids,  and  were  mirrored  on  the  white 
ceiling.  The  little  clock  on  the  mantle  was  tick 
ing,  sociably. 

Then,  there  was  Hilda — still  clinging  to  her 
bundles,  laughing  at  him,  as  he  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"Oh — you  can't  come  here — "  she  remonstrated. 

"I  am  here —  '  he  affirmed,  conclusively,  as  he 
sat  down,  comfortably,  on  a  chair  near  the  window. 

"But — how  am  I  to  work — ?"  she  chided. 
And  all  the  time  she  was  doing  things ;  opening 
drafts  in  the  stove ;  straightening  the  white  dim 
ity  curtains  ;  opening  her  bundles  ;  flitting  around, 
267 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

and  hovering  over  him,  with  that  inexpressible 
charm,  that  ineffable  tenderness  that  belongs  to 
women — some  women — alone. 

"Oh — I  can  read  to  you  while  you  are  work 
ing,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  his  book  and  began : — 

"One  time  there  was  much  talk  at  Brattahlid,  to 
the  effect  that  Wineland  the  Good  should  be  ex 
plored,  for  it  was  said  that  country  must  be  pos 
sessed  of  many  goodly  qualities.  And  so  it  came  to 
pass  that  Karlsefni  and  Snorri  fitted  out  their 
ship,  for  the  purpose  of  going  in  search  of  that 
country  in  the  spring.  They  had  in  all  one  hun 
dred  and  sixty  men,  when  they  sailed  to  the  west 
ern  settlement.  They  sailed  southward  along  the 
land  for  a  long  time,  and  came  to  a  cape ;  the  land 
lay  upon  the  starboard ;  there  were  long  strands 
and  sandy  banks  there.  They  rowed  to  the  land. 
Then  the  country  became  indented  with  bays,  and 
they  steered  their  ships  into  a  bay. 

"It  was  when  Leif  was  with  King  Olaf  Tryggva- 

son,   and   he   bade   him    proclaim    Christianity    to 

Greenland,  that  the  king  gave  him  two  Gaels ;  the 

man's  name  was  Haki,  and  the  woman's,  Hakia. 

268 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  king  advised  Leif  to  have  recourse  to  these 
people,  if  they  should  stand  in  need  of  fleetness, 
for  they  were  swifter  than  deer. 

"Eric  and  Leif  had  tendered  Karlsefni  the  serv 
ices  of  this  couple. 

"Now  when  they  had  sailed  past  Wonder- 
strands,  they  put  the  Gaels  ashore,  and  directed 
them  to  run  to  the  southward,  and  investigate  the 
nature  of  the  country,  and  return  again  before  the 
end  of  the  third  half  day.  Karlsefni  and  his  com 
panions  cast  anchor,  and  lay  there  during  their 
absence ;  and  when  they  came  again,  one  of  them 
carried  a  bunch  of  grapes,  and  the  other  an  ear 
of  new  sown  wheat.  They  went  on  board  the  ship, 
whereupon  Karlsefni  and  his  followers  held  on  their 
way,  until  they  came  to  where  the  coast  was  in 
dented  with  bays. 

"They  stood  into  the  bay  with  their  ships." 

Nelson  stopped  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  emphasize 
what  followed: — 

"There  was  an  island  out  in  the  mouth  of  the 
bay,    about    which    there    were    strong    currents. 
This  they  called  Orr's  Island,  because  they — " 
269 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Nonsense —  '  interrupted  Hilda. 

"Oh — you  were  listening — ?"  he  said. 

"You  seemed  to  be  so  busy  about  everything 
else.  I  thought  perhaps  you  were  not  paying  at 
tention  to  my  story  of  the  Norsemen. 

He  seemed  to  be  so  earnest,  so  serious  in  his  re 
marks,  that  she  gave  him  more  attention.  She  sat 
down  on  her  low  rocker,  beside  the  other  window, 
and  dropped  her  chin  into  her  hands. 

"Why  do  you  suppose  that  I  am  a  descendant 
of  those  Norsemen — ?"  she  inquired. 

"Well — your  appearance — and  then  your  fam 
ily  names.  Gunther  is  an  old  Norse  name — it's  in 
the  Nibelungenlied- — so  is  Brunhild,  and  Hagen ; 
and  your  father's  name,  Etzel — oh,  I'm  sure  of 
it."  He  put  down  his  book,  and  stared  at  her 
fixedly.  "Then  there  is  a  certain  facial  mark  that 
is  peculiar  to  all  of  your  ancestors,"  he  added. 

Her  curiosity  was  aroused. 

"Yes — and  what  may  that  be — ?" 

He  arose  and  went  to  her.     "If  you  will  turn, 
your  face  a  little  more  towards  the  light,"  he  said, 
in  a  very  matter-of-fact  way,  "I'll  look  for  it." 
270 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

She  turned,  half  smiling,  and  faced  the  window. 
Pie  watched  the  effect  of  the  full  white  light  of  the 
sunless  sky  upon  her  face,  with  its  encircling  halo 
of  golden  hair.  He  bent  over  her  and  carefully  ex 
amined  cvcfcy  line  of  her  features. 

"It  is  usually  under  the  point  of  the  chin,"  he 
said  gravely.  "If  'you  could  lift  it  a  trifle 
more — ?"  He  bent  lower. 

Up  tilted  the  soft,  rounded  chin. 

"There — ,"  he  said,  and — 

A  man's  temptation  is  the  measure  of  his 
strength.  Her  trusting  eyes  were  resting  in  his. 
A  smile  was  lurking  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
He  inhaled  the  fragrance  of  her  hair.  He  held  her 
chin  in  his  hand,  and  kissed  her  lips,  her  cheeks,  her 
eyes,  almost  before  she  was  aware  of  his  inten 
tions 

When  Captain  Gunther  returned  from  his  fish 
ing,  several  minutes  later,  he  found  Hilda  alone  in 
the  kitchen.  Her  cheeks  were  scarlet,  and  her 
wealth  of  hair  looked  as  though  it  was  about  to  fall 
over  her  shoulders. 

271 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  peered  into  the  sitting  room,  and  saw  Nelson 
busily  engaged  over  his  book,  apparently  oblivious 
to  his  surroundings. 

"He  seems  kind  of  lonesome — ,"  Uncle  Hagen 
remarked  in  an  undertone  to  Hilda.  "You  had 
better  take  him  out  for  a  walk — or  cheer  him  up 
a  bit." 


272 


VIII 

PILDA  was  seated  in  her  favorite  nook,  over 
looking  the  sea.  The  day  was  bright,  and 
the  sun's  rays  were  soft  and  warm.  Over 
head,  in  the  spreading  branches  of  the  trees,  there 
was  a  slight  rustling  noise  that  attracted  her  at 
tention  ;  looking  up  she  saw  the  bright  eyes  of  a 
chipmunk  peering  at  her  curiously.  As  she  moved 
incautiously,  to  obtain  a  better  view  of  the  little 
fellow,  he  took  a  sudden  fright  and  scampered  off 
in  a  wild,  chattering  panic.  She  watched  him 
darting  from  limb  to  limb  of  the  interlacing 
branches,  until  he  was  lost  to  sight. 

"Why,  chippie — you  foolish  fellow — ,"  she 
chided;  "to  treat  an  old  friend  like  that — ?"  She 
stepped  lightly  on  the  velvety  moss,  with  one  hand 
extended,  and  uttered  a  peculiar  little  chirp.  But 
chippie  was  gone  for  the  day. 

There  were  birds,  yellow  and  black;  and  some 
273 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

were  red  and  blue,  twittering,  singing,  flying  from 
tree  to  tree ;  and  the  bank  sloping  below  her  feet 
was  alive  with  grasshoppers,  irresponsible  things, 
jumping  up  in  the  air  and  landing,  aimlessly,  any 
where — for  the  mere  fun  of  it. 

And  the  air  was  ineffably  pure  and  delicious,  and 
fresh  with  the  smell  of  moist  leaf  mould,  mingled 
with  the  aromatic  pines.  Hilda  was  in  a  dreamy 
state  of  mind,  thinking  over  the  rapid  march  of 
events  that  had  come  upon  her,  and  that  had 
changed  the  current  of  her  life  in  so  short  a  time. 
She  remembered  the  years  of  her  childhood,  passed 
in  happy  contentment  on  her  beautiful  island,  and 
she  experienced  a  strange  sense  of  foreboding — of 
unhappiness — in  the  thought  that  this  love,  that 
had  come  to  her  unsought,  unbidden,  might  mean 
the  loss  of  many  things — of  the  dear  island.  She 
gazed  wistfully  out  to  sea,  and  she  thought,  with 
a  tremor  of  uneasiness,  of  the  great  world  beyond 
her  vision,  a  world  of  which  she  knew  so  little. 

And  she  thought  of  Uncle  Hagen.     What  would 
become  of  him — ?    Who  would  keep  his  little  house 
274 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

in  order,  and  prepare  his  meals ;  he  was  getting 
old,  although  he  would  not  admit  it;  who  would 
read  to  him,  care  for  him — ? 

And  the  winter  evenings  were  so  long.  She 
started  from  her  reverie  resolved,  determined. 

"Oh — I  cannot,  I  must  not  leave  him."     .... 

And  then,  as  she  scanned  the  horizon,  a  white  sail 
glided  around  the  point  of  a  distant  island ;  a  tiny 
patch  of  white  against  a  background  of  blues  and 
greens.  As  it  came  closer  in  shore  her  practised 
eye  discovered  that  it  was  a  sloop  of  marvelously 
proportioned  beauty;  a  boat  that  skimmed  the 
sea  like  a  water  fowl.  It  glided,  rose  and  fell,  and 
glittered  in  the  sun-tipped  waves  like  a  thing  of 
joyous  life.  She  watched  with  keen  interest  its 
circling  flight,  its  graceful  poise,  as  it  swept  along 
a  straight  course ;  how  close  it  could  point  into  the 
wind,  how  ably  it  was  handled.  And  then — she 
held  her  breath  as  she  saw  the  gracile  craft  head 
ing  recklessly  for  the  ragged  ledge  that  she  knew 
lay  half  submerged  just  ahead — ! 

She  craned  her  neck  in  the  effort  to  look  over  the 
rocks  in  front  of  her. 

275 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  boat  was  under  full  headway,  her  broad  sail 
filling  in  a  freshening  breeze,  astern.  Hilda  saw  a 
man  at  the  tiller ;  his  head  and  neck  bare,  his  face 
upturned  towards  her.  He  must  be  a  stranger, 
and  one  who  did  not  know  that  there  was  no  chan 
nel,  excepting  at  extreme  high  tide,  between  that 
jutting,  visible  rock  and  the  mainland.  Then,  as 
the  boat  seemed  to  fly  towards  the  rock,  with  its 
careless  skipper  staring  at  the  shore,  she  sprang  to 
the  edge  of  the  water  and  waved  her  handkerchief. 
And  as  the  boat  came  on — nearer — nearer,  she 
lifted  up  her  clear,  young  voice : — 

"About — about — g-o— a-b-o-u-t — !" 

She  shouted,  she  screamed,  she  gesticulated  and 
waved  her  hands,  furiously. 

The  man  at  the  tiller  laughed,  waved  his  hand, 
nodded  his  head, — 

Then — just  as  the  moment  had  arrived  when  she 
felt  that  the  next  would  reveal  a  quivering  mass 
of  wreckage,  of  broken  mast  and  entangling  rig 
ging — at  that  very  instant  of  time,  the  laughing 
stranger  eased  his  sail  and  came  about  with  the 
rock  on  his  port-side — not  a  dozen  yards  away. 
276 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Oh — it  was  masterly.  It  was  finely  done ;  and 
with  such  adroitness,  such  skill,  such  confidence  in 
his  ability,  such  a  laughing  assurance,  that  Hilda 
— drawing  a  long  breath — stood  thrilled  with  sur 
prise  and  admiration.  And  she  clapped  her 
hands,  like  a  child,  and  waved  frantically  after  the 
receding  boat,  as  she  saw  the  name  in  distinct 
black  letters  across  the  stern: 
IRENE 

Then  she  recognized  in  the  handsome  laughing 
skipper  the  person  of  Nelson  Thomas. 


277 


IX 


UNCLE  HAGEN  was  mending  his  nets.     From 
where  he  had  cast  them  he  could  see  the 
cove  and  much  of  the  sea  beyond.      From 
time  to  time  he  would  stop  his  work  and  look  out 
over  the  water,  until  his  eye  caught  a  white  sail 
that  was  flying  hither  and  yon  over  its  surface. 
Then  a  peculiar  smile  would  play  over  his  features 
as  he  bent  his  head  and  resumed  his  work. 

Up  the  lane  came  Herbert  Kenneth  and  Hilda. 
The  latter  quickly  disappeared  into  the  cottage, 
and  Herbert  sauntered  over  to  the  field  where  the 
captain  was  working.  Throwing  himself  lazily 
on  the  grass  beside  the  nets,  he  picked  up  a  bit 
of  wood  and  began  whittling  with  his  knife. 

"Well — Herbert,"   said   the   old   man,   without 
stopping  his  work,  "what  did  you  get — ?" 
"Cod — "  said  Herbert  shortly. 
"All—?" 

278 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORE'S  ISLAND 

"Mostly." 

"The'rc  running  pretty  good,"  said  Uncle 
Hagcn,  cheerfully. 

"Fair—" 

Uncle  Hagen  tied  a  knot  in  the  twine  and  looked 
up.  Herbert  was  not  a  man  to  talk,  but  there  was 
usually  more  in  him  than  single  words.  As  he 
glanced  at  the  other's  face  he  noticed  that  it  wore 
an  angry,  an  irritable  expression.  He  also  noticed 
that  Herbert  was  watching  the  white  sail  as  it  flit 
ted  back  and  forth  on  the  sparkling  water.  There 
was  something  about  that  particular  white  sail  that 
distinguished  it  from  all  others. 

"His  boat — "  said  Herbert,  while  his  eyes  roved 
restlessly  from  the  cottage  to  the  sea  and  back. 

"Mr.  Collins'  boat — the  Irene — "  assented  Uncle 
Hagen  carelessly. 

Herbert  threw  away  the  stick  and  closed  his 
knife  with  a  loud  snap.  "Who  is  this  Collins — 
anyway?"  He  looked  over  in  the  direction  of  the 
cottage,  with  something  akin  to  a  scowl  on  his  face. 

"Oh — he's  an  innocent  kind  of  man,"  said  Uncle 
Hagen,  kindly. 

279 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"He's  hangin'  around  a  good  deal  since — since 
he  first  come,"  said  Herbert. 

"Its  a  free  country —  "  remarked  Uncle  Hagen, 
as  he  twisted  his  twine  in  and  out  of  the  meshes. 

"T'aint  nothing  but  a  skimming  dish — "  said 
Herbert  as  his  eyes  followed  the  white  sail  on  the 
horizon. 

"She  points  up  pretty  close,  nevertheless — " 
said  Uncle  Hagen,  as  he  paused  for  a  while  in  his 
work.  "I  should  say  that  she'd  be  good  in  any 
kind  of  weather." 

"Good  as  the  Lucy — ?"  inquired  Herbert. 

It  was  a  home  thrust:  the  Lucy  was  Uncle 
Hagen's  boat.  He  had  never  been  known  to  admit 
that  there  was  any  thirty-footer  afloat  that  was  the 
equal  to  the  Lucy. 

"There  ain't  nothing  can  touch  the  Lucy"  as 
serted  the  captain,  confidently. 

"Exceptin'  the  Pearl—  "  argued  Herbert. 

"Excepting  nothin'  " — retorted  the  captain. 

Uncle  Hagen  tossed  over  the  net,  stretched  it 
out,  examined  it  closely,  and  all  the  time  he  was 
humming  a  tune  or  whistling. 
280 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Herbert  sat  in  silence.  Off  shore  the  wind  was 
freshening,  and  the  little  white  caps  were  gleaming 
in  the  sun.  The  ledge  at  his  feet  was  a  mass  of 
color — of  grays  and  greens,  with  bright  dabs  of 
scarlet.  His  eye  rested  indifferently  on  its  ex 
quisite  beauty.  "What  does  he  do  for  a  livin', 
anyway — ?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  just  exactly  know —  '  answered  the 
captain  slowly.  "He  writes  books  for  one  thing — " 

"Ump ! — A  writer,  eh —  There  was  condensed 
pity  in  his  expression.  "I  once  had  an  aunt  that 
done  writing — 

•Uncle  Hagen  thought  for  a  moment.  "Yes — I 
remember  Henrietta — 

"Well — she  never  made  a  cent  by  it — "  Herbert 
affirmed. 

"That's  right—"  assented  Uncle  Hagen.  "But 
there  are  some — " 

"Well — who,  now — just  mention  them — "  Her 
bert  demanded. 

The  captain  studied  for  a  while:     "I  was  read 
ing  about  them  the  other  evening,  in  'Facts  for 
the  Curious' — "     He  paused. 
281 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Herbert  made  an  impatient  movement.  "Well 
go  ahead — "  he  insisted. 

The  captain  was  nettled. 

"Well  there  was  Shakespeare ;  he  got  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  writing  'Hamlet.'  And  Milton  got 
thirty  dollars  for  'Paradise  Lost.' ' 

Herbert  looked  as  though  he  did  not  believe  it, 
smiling  incredulously.  He  waved  his  hand  in  scorn 
"That's  two—,"  he  finally  agreed.  "What's 
that—" 

The  captain  cudgeled  his  brains.  "There's 
another  one  too — if  I  could  only  remember — Gold 
berg — Goldsmith — that's  the  man." 

"Well— what  did  he  make—?"  said  Herbert. 

The  captain  reflected. 

"Three  hundred  dollars — it  was,  for  'The  Vicar 
of  Wakefield.'  " 

"Three  hundred—?" 

The  captain  nodded  his  head.  "Yep — 'nd  it's 
worth  it  too — Did  you  ever  read  it  Herbert?" 

"No—"  said  Herbert,  indifferently.  "What  is 
a  vick-er?" 

The  captain  assumed  a  lofty  air. 
282 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"A  vicar  is  a  kind  of  a  preacher.  He  had  an 
uncommon  run  of  bad  luck — for  himself  and 
family,  and  more  particularly  his  daughter;  she 
was  always  in  trouble.  He  was  just  like  a  man 
tryin'  to  sail  a  leaky  boat,  in  a  rough  sea,  and 
rotten  riggin' — ther'  was  nothin'  he  could  take 
hold  of." 

"Drowned — ?"  said  Herbert,  absently. 

The  captain  shook  his  head.  "No — he  made 
port  all  right — it  comes  out  all  right  in  the  end." 
Again  he  turned  the  net. 

"How  big  a  book  is  it — ?"  asked  Herbert,  as  he 
helped  the  captain  to  unravel  the  tangles.  He  was 
becoming  interested. 

"The  captain  enclosed  a  space  with  his  hands. 
"So  big — about  as  big  as  a  second  reader,"  he 
said. 

"And  he  made  three  hundred  dollars  on  it — ?" 
Herbert  repeated. 

"Yep— That's  straight." 

The  captain  nodded,  affirmatively. 

Herbert  jerked  his  head  sidewise  towards  the 
cottage.  "Is  he  a  doin'  any  writing  now — ?"  His 
283 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

tone  of  voice  was  not  nearly  so  contemptuous  as 
before. 

"Yes — he's  writing  a  book  now — 

"What's  it  called—?" 

"I  don't  just  know  the  name  of  it,"  answered 
the  captain,  thoughtfully.  "Hilda  knows — I  think 
it's  something  like  'The  Mashers — '." 

"Humph — !"  Herbert  grunted  his  disapproval 
of  the  title.  "What  does  he  think  he'll  get  for 
that—?" 

The  captain  was  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  a 
large  hole  in  his  net.  "Must  have  been  a  sword- 
fish — went  through  there,"  he  muttered.  He 
whistled  a  bar  or  two  of  an  old  Baptist  hymn  and 
came  back  naturally— without  any  undue  haste — 
to  the  subject  of  the  conversation.  "I  dunno  as 
he  told  me  that —  "  he  said. 

Herbert  looked  to  the  south,  and  his  practiced 
eye  located  the  Irene  heading  out  to  sea.  He  got 
on  his  feet,  stretched  his  large  muscles,  yawned, 
and  sauntered  over  to  the  cottage.  The  idea  had 
occurred  to  him  that  it  was  a  good  opportunity 
to  talk  to  Hilda. 

284 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

He  found  her  busily  engaged  in  her  kitchen ;  so 
engrossed  in  her  work  that,  apparently,  she  did  not 
observe  him  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway. 

He  heaved  a  sigh. 

"Gracious — !"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  unusual 
show  of  alarm,  "you  scared  me  dreadfully."  She 
turned  her  back  to  him  and  went  about  her  work. 

He  sidled  into  the  room — without  an  invitation 
— and  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  near  the  table. 
He  kept  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  wore  a  confident 
smile  on  his  broad  face  as  his  eyes  followed  her 
around  the  room.  "I'm  always  a  scarin'  you 
lately,"  he  complained.  "What  makes  you  so 
skeery — ?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

"Oh — nothing  that  I  know  of — "  she  said. 

He  sat  and  stared  at  her  for  several  minutes 
without  saying  a  word.  Then  he  began : 

"Hilda — "  Again  he  lapsed  into  silence.  She 
wanted  to  talk — to  say  something — but  there  was 
absolutely  nothing  in  common  between  them ;  she 
had  nothing  to  say.  "I've  about  made  up  my 
mind  to  get  married,"  he  finally  told  her.  Then 
285 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

he  paused  to  note  the  effect  of  his  important  deci 
sion. 

"Yes —  The  rising  inflection  in  her  voice  indi 
cated  more  surprise  than  interest. 

"And  who  do  you  think  she  is — ?"  He  stared 
into  her  eyes,  with  an  expression  on  his  face  that 
made  her  shiver. 

"She — ?"     If  Uncle  Hagen  would  only  come. 

"Um —  He  crossed  his  legs  and  held  his  knee 
in  his  clasped  hands.  And  all  the  time  he  followed 
her  movements  with  a  hungry  look  as  though  he 
wanted  to  eat  her. 

"I  haven't  an  idea — "  she  said. 

"Oh — you  haven't  an  idea,"  he  repeated.  And 
he  tried  to  mimic  the  tones  of  her  sweet  voice 
with  most  distressing  playfulness. 

There  was  another  long  silence. 

"Her  last  name  begins  with  a  G —  '  he  insin 
uated,  encouragingly. 

She  thought  that  she  must  scream  at  the  top  of 

her  lungs  if  he  went  on  much  longer.     She  knew 

exactly   the  estimation  in  which  he  held  himself. 

For  years  he  had  been  the  recipient  of  undisguised 

286 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

admiration  from  the  women  of  Orr's  Island — a 
large  majority  of  them — with  the  result  that  he 
regarded  himself  as  practically  invincible. 

She  busied  herself  more  industriously  than 
before 

"G-u-n-t-h-e-r."  He  spelled  the  name  slowly, 
leering  at  her  between  each  letter.  "Now  do  you 
know—?" 

By  a  peculiar  inconsistency  of  his  nature  it  was 
Hilda,  who  had  never  given  him  any  encourage 
ment,  whom  he  most  admired.  Her  friendly  man 
ner  towards  him  had  been  maintained  for  a  long 
time  because  of  her  indifference.  It  was  Hilda, 
who  cared  nothing  for  him,  whom  he  liked  the  best 
of  all. 

"I  guess  you  knew  all  the  time — ,"  he  said,  ten 
derly,  as  he  arose  from  his  chair.  "You  were  just 
lettin'  on  about  bein'  so  skeered — ?"  He  was  ad 
vancing  towards  her,  with  an  evident  intention  of 
purpose  that  alarmed  her 

And  Uncle  Hagen,  out  in  the  field,  singing 
hymn  tunes  over  his  nets 

"I'm  a  goin'  to  kiss  you — right  now,"  he  in- 
287 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

formed  her.  He  raised  his  heavy  muscular  arms 
and  attempted  to  catch  her  as  she  passed  him. 
She  evaded  him. 

"Herbert — !"  she  commanded,  desperately, 
"don't  dare — !"  She  stamped  her  foot ;  her  eyes 
blazed.  Then  the  door  slammed  in  his  face  with 
a  loud  bang,  shutting  from  his  ardent  gaze  a  fleet 
ing  vision  of  checked-gingham  loveliness. 

Out  on  the  ledge,  Uncle  Hagen  was  passing  the 
twine  in  and  out,  and  across  the  hole  in  his  net — 
where  a  swordfish  must  have  gone  through.  And 
as  he  worked  he  hummed: 

"From  Greenland's  i-cee  moun-tin'— 

From  In-jus  cor-rell  stra-and, 
Where  Afr-ricks  sun-ee — " 

When  Hilda  suddenly  appeared. 

Her  face  was  flushed ;  her  hair  dishevelled,  and 
she  was  breathless  from  running. 

He  looked  at  her  critically. 

"Mouse  in  the  kitchen — ?"  he  queried. 

"No — o —  She  sat  down  beside  him,  with  a 
little  sigh  of  relief.  "I  just  ran  over  to  ask  what 
time  we'll  have  dinner." 

288 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"You  ran  pretty  hard,  too — didn't  you — ?" 
He  looked  at  her  face,  and  then  towards  the  sea. 
"Collins  has  made  the  turn — ,"  he  remarked, 
casually.  "Guess  we  might  as  well  wait  for  him." 
He  pulled  out  a  heavy,  open-faced,  silver  watch. 
"Why,  it's  only  eleven  o'clock — ,"  he  informed 
her.  "Ain't  you  hurrying  things  a  little — ?" 

Apparently  she  did  not  hear  him,  for  she  made 
no  reply,  but  sat  with  her  eyes  fastened  on  the 
white  sail  that  was  approaching  the  land. 

"Do  you  think  he  will  win — ?"  she  asked, 
dreamily. 

Uncle  Hagen  regarded  her  affectionately,  his 
good-natured  face  beaming  with  intelligence.  "I 
think  he  will — ,"  he  assured  her. 


289 


a  GREAT  deal  of  talk  about  the  boat  race  at 
Orr's  Island  had  resulted  in  but  few  entries. 
The  season  was  nearly  over,  and  most  of  the 
summer  fleet  had  departed   for  Southern  waters, 
or  had  gone  out  of  commission.     A  few  Portland 
skippers — nursing  old  rivalries  with  the  islanders 
— having  first  announced  their  willingness  to  try 
conclusions   with   the    challenging   boats,    had   all 
withdrawn  from  the  contest. 

So  that  there  remained  on  the  morning  of  the 
race — a  morning  that  dawned  bright  and  favor 
able — but  three  boats  that  were  ready  and  eager 
to  make  the  course. 

These  were  the  Lucy,  owned  by  Captain  Hagen 
Gunther ;  the  Pearl,  belonging  to  Captain  Herbert 
Kenneth,  and  the  Irene — a  sort  of  mystery  boat 
that  had  arrived  off  Prince's  Point  in  the  night, 
and  had  been  claimed  the  following  morning  by 
290 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

Mr.  William  Collins — old  man  Gunther's  summer 
boarder. 

Of  the  respective  sailing  qualities  of  the  Pearl 
and  Lucy  there  was  nothing  new  to  be  said.  These 
boats  had  long  been  rivals,  and  the  village  was 
about  equally  divided  with  their  enthusiastic  de 
fenders.  They  had  frequently  raced,  and  with 
varying  results.  Sometimes  the  Pearl,  with  a  load 
of  lobsters,  would  get  to  Portland  ahead  of  the 
Lucy;  and  then  the  latter  would  arrive  at  the  mar 
ket,  and  have  the  lobsters  disposed  of  before  the 
Pearl  had  reached  the  dock.  But  the  beaten  cap 
tain  always  had  so  many  plausible  reasons  for  his 
defeat  that  the  consensus  of  opinions  was  still 
about  evenly  divided.  It  was,  therefore,  a  matter 
of  considerable  interest,  this  bright  September 
morning,  as  to  which  of  the  boats  would  win.  This 
interest  had  increased  when  the  Irene  had  arrived, 
and  when  it  became  known  that  she  would  be  sailed 
by  the  owner. 

Small  boats,  of  all  kinds  and  description,  but 
principally  motor  boats,  flitted  around  the  harbor 
as  the  time  drew  nigh  for  the  race.  Light  clouds 
291 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

were  scudding  across  the  sky,  and  there  was  a 
fresh  northeast  wind  blowing  that  made  the  white- 
caps  dance  on  the  surface  of  the  sea. 

The  course  that  had  been  agreed  upon  was 
triangular — a  rock  or  small  island  marking  each 
corner — and  measured,  roughly,  a  trifle  over 
twenty  miles. 

When  the  big  motor  boat,  the  Neptune,  left  the 
dock  about  ten  o'clock,  with  the  committee,  con 
sisting  of  old  Abner  Brown,  Ebcn  Hartsell  and 
Jeff  Burlap, — all  old  sea  captains — on  board,  the 
wind  was  freshening  considerably ;  and  many  dubi 
ous  remarks  were  made  by  the  spectators,  as  they 
saw  the  big  sail  carried  by  the  frail-looking  Irene. 
Each  racing  boat  was  manned  by  a  skipper  and 
mate;  and  Nelson  had  for  his  companion  a  broad- 
shouldered,  weather-beaten  fellow,  who  wore  a 
striking  resemblance  to  Bill — the  mate  of  the  yacht 
Phyllis.  It  is  possible  that  it  was  Bill,  as  the  Phyllis 
was — but,  that's  another  matter,  and  one  that  will 
evolve  later. 

In  Nelson's  case  there  was  a  great  deal  more  at 
stake  than  the  mere  gratification  of  beating  his 
292 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

opponents.  Hilda  had  insisted  that  he  must  win 
the  race,  if  he  expected  to  receive  a  favorable 
reply  to  his  offer  of  marriage:  and  he  was  de 
termined  to  win  or — well — there  was  no  alterna 
tive.  He  must  win.  Hilda  had  insisted. 

In  Herbert's  circumstances  there  existed,  also,  a 
compelling  reason  why  the  Pearl  must  come  in 
ahead.  In  reply  to  his  insistent  assertions  that 
Collins  knew  nothing  about  sailing,  and  that  the 
Irene  was  only  a  play  boat,  she  had  retorted  in 
such  unmistakable  terms,  that  he  knew  a  defeat  for 
the  Pearl  meant  a  slim  chance  for  him  in  his  hope 
of  winning  her  favor. 

In  Captain  Hagen  Gunther's  mind  there  was 
his  deeply  rooted  conviction  that  the  Lucy  could 
beat  anything  in  her  class — if  she  was  properly 
handled:  and  he  intended  to  prove  it. 

As  the  racing  boats  were  maneuvering  for  posi 
tion  the  preparatory  signal  was  given  to  start  in 
fifteen  minutes.  At  the  expiration  of  that  time 
the  three  boats  came  to  the  line  as  the  start  was 
given. 

The  Pearl  led  across,  with  the  Lucy  next,  and 
293 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  Irene  last;  all  heading  out  to  sea.  Nelson 
tacked  as  soon  as  he  was  sure  of  the  start,  and 
began  looking  around  for  the  breeze  that  he  re 
membered  was  almost  sure  to  follow  a  certain 
course  off  shore. 

The  Pearl  and  the  Lucy,  ignoring  such  particu 
lars,  kept  close  together  on  a  straight  course. 

That  Nelson  was  right  about  the  off-shore  breeze 
was  proved  as  the  Irene,  on  her  next  tack,  came 
on  ahead,  crossing  the  bows  of  the  other  boats. 
She  was  soon  showing  the  way  to  the  first  mark, 
where  she  turned  three  minutes  ahead  of  the  Pearl, 
and  five  minutes  ahead  of  the  Lucy.  As  she  turned 
the  mark  the  sea  was  heavy,  and  the  strong  north 
east  wind  was  shifting  to  easterly. 

Nelson  glanced  aloft,  and  then  along  the  deck 
of  the  Irene  with  as  much  nonchalance  and  indif 
ference,  as  though  he  and  the  mate  were  taking  a 
pleasure  sail,  with  a  clam  bake  in  prospect. 

"If  there  was  any  money  on  this  race,"  he  re 
marked,  quietly,  to  the  mate,  "I'd  be  ashamed  to 
take  it.  Will  you  please  observe  the  way  she 
carries  herself — !" 

294 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  mate  grinned  approvingly. 

"She's  a  bird — that's  a  fact,"  he  agreed.  Then 
he  glanced  aft,  carelessly.  "If  them  backstays 
don't  pull  thro'  th'  deck—,"  he  added 

On  the  second  leg  of  the  course  the  Pearl  gained 
considerably,  and  Captain  Kenneth  made  a  des 
perate  effort  to  force  a  way  between  the  Irene  and 
the  mark. 

He  was  risking  a  bad  foul. 

But,  on  board  the  Irene  the  mate  only  chewed 
his  tobacco  more  vigorously,  and  kept  an  eye  on 
the  backstays — where  the  strains  of  the  rig  con 
centrated.  He  had  implicit  faith  in  his  skipper — 
he  was  not  so  sure  of  that  eyebolt. 

Nelson  almost  laughed  aloud  as  he  watched  the 
Pearl — then  he  swept  around  the  mark  with  the 
Irene  tipping  the  waves  like  a  great  sea  gull. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that — ?"  exclaimed  Nel 
son,  indignantly,  as  the  Pearl — without  altering 
her  course  a  point — kept  steadily  on  her  way, 
determined,  evidently,  to  cross  the  bow  of  the 
Irene. 

The  boats  were  so  close  together  that  Nelson 
295 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

could  sec  the  white  face  of  Kenneth,  tense,  drawn 
with  a  desperate  look  of  dogged  resolution,  that 
indicated  a  man  who  was  determined  to  have  his 
way  at  any  cost. 

As  the  boats  flew  along  their  converging  routes, 
drawing  rapidly  more  closely  together,  Nelson 
could  see  the  square  set  jaw  of  Captain  Kenneth 
outlined  against  the  bulging  white  sail  of  the 
Pearl;  and  his  heart  quickened  with  nervous  excite 
ment  as  the  truth  suddenly  became  manifest,  that 
he  was  taking  chances  with  a  man  who  was  beside 
himself  with  rage.  A  man  who  would  deliberately 
foul  the  Irene  if  she  came  in  his  way — ! 

The  mate  glanced  quickly  at  the  Pearl;  at  her 
bulk,  as  she  loomed  closer;  at  her  great  sail,  and 
massivencss,  as  compared  with  the  buoyant  light 
ness  of  the  Irene — and  then  at  his  particular  con 
cern,  the  stay  bolts.  He  measured  with  a  prac 
ticed  eye  the  blue  water  between  the  boats,  and 
nodded  approvingly  as  he  caught  the  flaming  dark 
eyes  of  his  skipper. 

"You  can  do  it — ,"  he  said,  understandingly. 
But — he  kicked  oir  his  shoes,  and  took  another 
296 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

hole  in  the  buckle  of  his  belt — he  was  ready  for 
the  crash. 

It  was  a  reckless  chance,  a  wild  daring  without 
thought  or  reason,  that  prompted  Nelson  to  meet 
his  rival  on  his  own  terms ;  to  continue  his  course 
and  cross  the  bow  of  the  Pearl — or  to  foul  her. 

Perhaps  he  did  think — ?  Peradventure  he  also 
reasoned  with  himself  as  he  recalled  Hilda,  leaning 
comfortably  on  the  mossy  ledge ;  her  hands  folded ; 
her  half  closed  eyes  watching  him  through  her 
dark  lashes.  He  may  have  heard  her  voice  singing 
in  his  ears: — "The  Irene  must  win  the  race — ?" 
His  brown  eyes  opened  wider,  with  eager  courage, 
as  he  held  his  boat  straight  on  her  course.  The 
easterly  wind  was  blowing  half  a  gale.  The  great 
spread  of  white  canvas  bellied  firm  and  stiff  as  a 
board,  with  rigging  taut  as  fiddle  strings.  The 
two  skippers,  sitting  grimly  in  their  boats,  drew 
together  like  knights  of  old  as  they  charged  with 
lances  set.  Or,  like  Indians,  in  their  war  canoes. 
Neither  shouted  a  warning;  neither  altered  his 
course  a  hair's  breadth. 


297 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

There  was  not  fifty  feet  between  them — not  ten 
feet.  Another  second,  and — 

The  mate  dropped  to  his  full  length  along  the 
deck  motionless. 

Nelson  held  his  breath 

Like  the  flight  of  an  arrow  the  Irene  flew  across 
the  bow  of  the  Pearl.  The  mate  raised  his  head 
to  get  a  better  view  of  the  boat  as  she  passed 
astern.  Then  he  pulled  on  his  shoes. 

"Never  touched  us — ,"  he  commented. 

On  the  last  leg  the  work  was  all  to  windward, 
and  the  Irene  made  a  great  gain — pointing  up  so 
close  to  the  wind  as  to  make  the  mate's  broad  face 
a  study  in  smiles. 

"She's  a  bird — that's  a  fact — ,"  he  repeated. 

The  mate  was  a  man  of  few  words. 

When  the  Irene  crossed  the  line  the  Lucy  was 
fifteen  minutes  astern — and  the  Pearl  still  later. 


298 


XI 


IpARLY  the  following  morning  a  messenger 
I^f  handed  Nelson  a  belated  telegram,  forwarded 
from  New  York,  that  had  arr'ved  the  pre 
vious  day.  He  opened  the  envelope,  and  read  the 
following  message : — 

"Anne  has  accepted. 

LlGHTHALL,." 

He  tore  it  into  bits,  and  then  gazed,  reflectively, 
from  his  bedroom  window 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  had  not  changed 
his  position.  Possibly  he  was  trying  to  fathom 
a  woman's  mind,  or,  perchance,  he  was  attempting 
to  understand  her  motives.  Or,  probably — 


299 


XII 

£(  ZT  ND  now  that  the  conditions  have  all  been 

\X      complied    with — ,"    said    Nelson,    airily, 
"will  you  kindly  say  what  time  will  suit 
your  Highness  to  go  aboard  the  Phyllis — ?" 

"Oh — we  would  first  have  to  be  married — ,"  said 
Hilda,  innocently. 

At  which  he  laughed  aloud,  and  laughed  again, 
until  the  glow  deepened  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips 
began  to  pout. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  could  have  said  to  have 
caused  you  so  much — joy,"  she  demanded. 

He  stopped,  suddenly,  and  tried  his  best  to  ap 
pear  indifferent.  But- — the  gladness,  ectasy,  rap 
ture  of  the  moment,  made  his  heart  jump  by  leaps 
and  bounds. 

"Well—?"  she  insisted. 

"Oh — I  was  thinking  of  old  Botts — ,"  he  ex 
plained,  unmeaningly. 

300 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"Captain  Botts— ?" 

She  elevated  her  eyebrows,  and  looked  mystified. 

"I  was  wondering  what  he  will  say,  when  he 
hears — ,"  he  went  on,  trivially. 

"Dear  old  Captain  Botts — ,"  she  commented, 
"if  he  hadn't  stopped  the  Phyllis  for  me  that 
day—" 

"Pardon — ,"  interrupted  Nelson,  promptly,  "it 
was  I — " 

But  she  ignored  him. 

"If  he  hadn't  stopped — ,"  she  repeated,  "you 
would  not  be  here."  .... 

"But  your  book — ?"  she  reminded  him,  as  one 
by  one  he  overcome  her  objections.  "How  about 
'The  Masses— ?'" 

They  were  sitting  on  the  old  log,  on  Sunset 
Hill.  The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  purple 
mountains,  far  away.  The  calm  of  the  evening 
was  silently  enveloping  the  view.  Over  the  water 
suddenly  appeared  a  flash  of  light — then  disap 
peared.  Further  out  to  sea  burned  another  light, 
clear,  steady.  A  gentle  breeze,  full  of  odoriferous 
smells  from  the  trees,  fanned  their  faces. 
301 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  'The  Masses,'  "  he 
replied,  soberly.  "I  have  abandoned  the  idea — 

Her  brow  clouded.  "But  you  are  not  going  to 
give  up  your  work — 

"No — r  His  eyes  followed  the  glory  of  the  set 
ting  sun,  as  revealed  in  the  heavens. 

"No — but  my  work  will  be  along  different 
lines—" 

They  sat  silently  contemplating  the  changing 
colors  of  the  sky.  And,  strange  to  say,  each  knew 
the  other's  thoughts. 

"I  want  to  write  a  book —  He  paused,  and 
drew  in  a  long  breath  of  the  sea-laden  air.  "Oh — 
Hilda,  if  I  could  only  write — 

"I  know — ,"  she  said,  smiling. 

When  they  returned  to  the  cottage,  Uncle 
Hagen  was  fussing  around  the  fireplace  with  a  lot 
of  dry  kindling  wood. 

"It  gets  cold  soon  as  the  sun  goes  down,"  he 
remarked,  with  a  rebuke  in  his  voice.  "Young 
people  never  think  of  that — ' 

He  lighted  a  match,  and  applied  it  to  the  whisp 
of  paper  under  the  wood.     "Now,  Mr.  Collins — 
302 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORE'S  ISLAND 

"Captain  Gunther — that  is  not  my  name — ," 
said  Nelson,  calmly. 

The  captain  held  the  match  until  it  burned  his 
fingers — and  dropped  it.  Then  he  slowly  straight 
ened  his  back,  and  looked  at  Hilda.  That  young 
woman  was  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the 
Hindo  idol,  on  the  mantel  piece.  A  light  dawned 
in  the  old  man's  mind.  "Oh — I  see,  that's  your — 
your  name,  when  you  write  books —  '  He  appealed 
to  Hilda.  "What  do  you  call  it—?" 

"A  nom  de  plume — ?"  she  suggested. 

"That's  it — a  nomdyplume."  He  struck  an 
other  match,  and  lighted  the  paper. 

Nelson  laughed,  and  shook  his  head. 

"No — Captain  Gunther,  my  name  is  Nelson 
Thomas." 

The  captain  extended  his  hand,  cordially.  "I'm 
pleased  to  meet  you."  Then  he  arranged  the  logs 
carefully  over  the  blaze,  while  his  mind  kept  hark 
ing  back.  Nelson  Thomas —  "Now  I've  got 
it — ,"  he  said  abruptly.  "You're  the  man  that 
wrote —  What  was  it,  Hilda — ?"  .... 

"You  can  sail  a  boat — all  right :  I'll  vouch  for 
303 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

that,"  said  the  old  man  later,  as  he  stretched  his 
legs  before  the  blaze.  "The  way  you  made  that 
Irene  dance  around  me  and  Herbert  was  a  sight." 
Hilda  had  retired,  and  the  two  men  were  discussing 
the  boat  race,  over  their  pipes. 

"Well — I  was  sorry  to  go  ahead  of  the  Lucy" 
said  Nelson,  "but  I  had  to  beat  the  Pearl" 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  the  captain's  eye. 

"Had  your  order — eh — ?" 

A  look  of  intelligence  passed  between  them. 

Then  the  captain  arose,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen.  "There's  a  drop  left — enough  for  two," 
he  said  in  a  loud  whisper 


304 


XIII 

IN  Portland  Harbor  the  Phyllis  was  gently  ris 
ing  and  falling  with  the  motion  of  the  sea. 
An  insistent  light  breeze  from  the  south  just 
ruffled  the  placid  waters  of  the  bay.     An  amber 
haze  intervened  between  the  blue  of  the  sky  and 
water. 

Amidships,  at  the  door  of  the  engine  room,  Bill, 
the  mate,  was  describing  to  Joe,  the  engineer,  and 
to  Jake,  the  fireman,  the  boat  race  at  Orr's 
Island. 

"Here's  the  way  it  was — ,"  he  explained,  as  he 
laid  a  match,  a  pipe,  and  a  plug  of  tobacco  on  the 
cushioned  seat  beside  him.  "This  here  plug  is  the 
Pearl — and  following  astern  was  old  Gunther's 
boat,  the  Lucy;  and  here  we  was — '  He  laid  the 
match  ahead  of  the  pipe  and  plug.  "I  was  a 
watchin'  the  backstays,  for  I  thinks  to  myself  that 
if  ther's  any  trouble,  that's  where  it  will  be — and 
305 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

the  Boss,  he  was  layin'  back,  comfortable  like, 
when  along  comes  that  plug — the  Pearl,  a  tryin' 
to  crowd  in  between  us  and  the  mark — 

"Gee — !"  said  Jake,  bellicoscly,  "I'd  a  rammed 
her." 

"You  would — !"  said  the  mate,  contemptuously. 
"A  match  a  rammin'  a  plug — ?" 

The  illustration  was  so  conclusive  that  Jake  im 
mediately  subsided  into  a  state  of  embarrassed 
silence. 

The  mate  regarded  him  compassionately,  for  a 
few  moments,  and  continued:  "As  I  was  a  sayin', 
the  Irene — 

He  broke  off,  suddenly,  and  stared  over  the  rail 
towards  Little  Diamond.  "And  here  she  comes  a 
skippin' — ,"  he  concluded. 

When  the  Irene  drew  alongside,  Hilda  was  at 
the  wheel,  with  Uncle  Hagen  for  her  mate.  Nel 
son  and  Mrs.  Grace  Donald  were  useful — as  live 
ballast.  As  the  boat  came  about  under  the  lee  of 
the  Phyllis  Captain  Gunther  regarded  his  niece 
with  open-eyed  admiration.  "You're  improvin'  all 

the  time — ,"  he  commended 

306 


BRUNHILDA  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND 

The  amber-colored  haze  grew  deeper,  darker. 
The  lights  of  Portland  twinkled,  one  by  one, 
through  the  gathering  shades  of  evening.  The 
moon  hung  low  above  the  irregular  sky  line  of  the 
buildings,  transforming  their  ordinary  propor 
tions  into  mystery  structures  of  towers  and 
palaces.  And  the  air  was  still  soft  and  balmy  with 
the  last  breath  of  summer 

Hilda  sat  on  a  low  chair  snugly  enfolded  in  a 
soft,  bright-colored  rug,  as  the  Phyllis  steamed 
slowly  out  to  sea.  By  her  side,  within  reach  of 
her  hand,  lounged  Nelson. 

Captain  Botts,  erect,  sunburned,  embarrassed, 
raised  his  cap,  and  bowed  stiffly. 

"Any  orders — ?"  he  inquired. 

Nelson  laughed,  contentedly,  and  nodded  to 
wards  Hilda. 

"Ask  the  owner — ,"  he  replied. 


307 


I-  IN  i  Hill 

A    : : :    2£  •"" 


